Remnants of a Lost Age
by Vierge
Summary: [G1, AU] A discovery in the Egyptian deserts reveals a race that lived and fought on Earth long before the Transformers ever awoke: a race that may have far more to do with the Cybertronians than they first thought, heralding an ancient grudge and war.
1. Prologue: Of Gods and Secrets

**Remnants of a Lost Age**

_By: Vierge_

_A __Transformers: Generation 1__ A.U. Fan Fiction_

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the _Transformers;_ they belong to Hasbro/Takara. I own all of the original characters here – if they do not appear anywhere in the _Transformers_ multiple continuums, then they're most likely mine, as is the alien culture I wrote about here. Anything else that I might have missed, belong to their respective owners. Any manipulations of history and inconsistencies with actual facts are my own, so please excuse them.

A NOTE ON UNINTENTIONAL BORROWING: I tried to avoid it as much as possible, but I couldn't. I am now very much aware that a lot of my ideas have most likely been used by other people. In particular, I am quite sure that many of my ideas are present in _Vision of Escaflowne,_ _Atlantis: The Lost Empire, Nadia: The Secret of Blue Water,_ and _Stargate_. If there are any other similarities that I might not have mentioned, please forgive me for their usage and not mentioning them earlier on.

RATING: PG-13/T

CONTINUITY: Uh… What's that? Seriously though, this story is best considered an A.U. of the G1 series.

TEASER: The Transformers are not the only aliens who have come to Earth, and the Autobots find out about it the hard way when ruins uncovered in the Wadi El Natrun reveal the existence of a race that lived – and fought – on Earth while they were still sleeping: a race that has more connections to them than they initially imagined. However, their awakening also rekindles an old war between those involved in it that affects Cybertronians and humans alike – in more ways than one.

* * *

**Prologue: Of Gods and Secrets**

Nefret cradled the beautiful alabaster cup with both hands, afraid that she would lose her grip and drop the precious object. Her palms were slick with sweat, and she was trembling so strongly she was afraid that the vibrations would slide the cup from her grasp. She did her best to pull herself together, but she could not help herself. It was not everyday, after all, that their humble temple in the Natron Valley received guests like the one she was serving now.

And quite the guest he was. Though he had come to the temple garbed like a humble pilgrim, the moment he shed his cloak he revealed his true nature, displayed in the gold beads braided carefully into his thick black hair and beard; the dark blue of his clothes; and the sword at his hip, with its bright brass pommel. His features were very much like those of the Sumerian merchants she had seen once or twice before, before she had come to this temple, but this man looked more a king than a merchant.

Yet Nefret knew there was more to this man than his appearance revealed. There was something else, a quality she could not quite describe, that told her this man, though he wore the guise of a man, was far, far above a mere mortal. After serving a goddess incarnate since she was nine flood cycles old, she considered herself a fine judge of what made a man a mortal, as opposed to a god passing himself off as mortal.

He smiled at her then, and she was afraid that she really would drop the cup. It was a kind smile, though, benevolent and understanding.

"Do not be afraid." His voice was rich and mellow, resonant with a quality she could not define. "I merely wish to speak to your mistress."

"Mistress" was not quite the term to describe the way Nefret and the other priestesses looked up to and served their resident goddess, but in some way it was an apt one as well – a softening, she thought, of what they did, raising her up slightly from mere mortal worshipper to a being worthy of attention and some measure of respect, even from a god.

She lowered her head slightly, willing herself to focus on the wine dregs that had settled at the bottom of the cup after he had drunk from it. "We have sent word to her, My Lord. She will arrive shortly."

She saw him nod from beneath her lashes, and she lifted her head just slightly to look at him without calling undue attention to herself. Though dread coiled in the pit of her stomach at her audacity (no mortal could look upon a god directly without being struck down for the insult, so she had been taught), she observed his face, and noticed how it seemed to grow solemn. His dark eyes were drawn to the elaborate wall painting across from him: a scene of fishermen standing in their boats amongst stands of papyrus, casting their nets into the blue water to harvest the bounty of the Delta. Though she would never mention it, lest she be slain on the spot for her cheek, Nefret could see the weight of sadness and weariness in his eyes.

She had always wondered: did gods feel sorrow and pain? Watching their guest now, she began to believe that they did.

The doors at the other end of the room opened, and Nefret bowed her head further in deference to the goddess who stood there, clad in fresh white linen, her ebony tresses falling around her like a cloak to her ankles.

The god-in-a-man's-guise turned to her then, teeth gleaming as he smiled and opened his arms to the goddess of their temple. She, in turn, crossed the room with light footsteps, moving more like a girl than a stately deity, to be enfolded in his embrace.

"Nikitu," she murmured, her eyes closed as she seemed to revel in the embrace of the god-man.

"Meriat." Her name was a benediction from his lips, an affirmation of who she was.

Nefret turned her head away; not wanting to look upon what she felt was a rather intimate moment. She wished to leave the room, but she dared not move from where she was. Leaving without permission would be a grave insult.

'_Nefret.'_

The goddess' voice in her head was soothing and gentle, and Nefret lifted her head slightly in acknowledgement.

'_You may leave now. Close the door behind you when you go.'_

Not quite knowing how to respond, Nefret merely did as she was told. She bowed to the goddess as was proper, and then left with as much haste as politeness allowed.

* * *

"Do you not see, Meriat? We have no choice in this matter."

"That cannot be true. Surely there must be _something_ left for us to do…"

"I am afraid not, dear sister. The orders are from Lady Danara herself."

"No…"

"Would I lie to you? I speak these words. I do not lie."

"But-"

"Meriat, _please,_ you must understand. Ever since they came here, we have done nothing but fight a losing battle. Lady Danara has seen that, and I see it too. They have destroyed our homes, and now we are scattered. We _must_ do as she asks us."

"So you would give up, just like that? You would yield to those who took away our homes, our families? You would yield to those who took away your wife and daughter?"

"Meriat-"

"You _spoke_ that promise, brother! You _spoke_ the words! Promises spoken are promises that cannot be broken!"

"Do you think I do not know that?! I intend to seek my vengeance, and by the light of Vedra, Laksma and Toth, I _will_ have it! But not _now_. Lady Danara was right when she said that we are not strong enough to oppose them now. We have lost too many of our people, too much of our resources. We have no other recourse save this. Can you not see that?!"

"Nikitu…"

"Hush, sister. I am sorry; I did not mean to raise my voice. But you do understand now, do you not?"

"… Yes, I do. … We truly have no choice, do we?"

"Ah, sister, I wish we did, but there is nothing left for us – not at this moment. And the longer we remain out in the open, the greater the chance that they will find us."

"I see. I understand. Where shall you be, then?"

"In Eridu (1). I will be safe there. And you, sister? Where do you intend to stay?"

"I shall stay here. I do not wish to go to Het-ka-Ptah (2)."

"And why not? You will be safer there, instead of here in the wilderness."

"I simply cannot. You, of all people, know why. Please understand."

"… I see. You shall require safety measures. Very well then, I shall make them for you."

"Thank you, brother. Thank you."

* * *

Meanwhile, time stopped for no one, least of all for mortals. One entire flood cycle had passed since the arrival of the Sumerian god, and life continued as it usually did in the temple. Nefret went back to her normal temple duties, which included overseeing the novices, and helping maintain the records of offerings left by natron merchants and miners. The goddess had not bespoken her since the last time. Some of the other minor priestesses had already been called upon to bring sustenance, but never once had Nefret been bespoken by the goddess for any reason whatsoever.

Until now.

'_Nefret.'_

The goddess' voice was gentle in her head, and Nefret looked up from the tallies that she had been carefully writing down. She knew that the goddess would know that she had her attention, but nevertheless, she murmured: "At your service, My Lady."

'_Please come to the inner sanctum, but come alone.'_

Nefret's heart stilled for a moment, and then returned in triple-time. She was being called to the inner sanctum? The only one who was summoned there was the High Priestess, and even then only when an important feast day was drawing near. Nevertheless, she had been summoned, and she had to obey. Carefully setting aside her scrolls and writing implements, she made sure that she was presentable, and then walked down the cool, dark hallways of the temple to the door of the inner sanctum.

She stood before the heavy cedar-wood double doors that led to the goddess' sanctuary, eyes roving the beautiful carvings that covered it: a pattern of papyrus heads and lotus flowers, all intertwined in and amongst themselves in complicated knots. "I am here as you summoned, My Lady."

This time, the goddess' voice came to her through the doors, slightly muffled. "Come in, Nefret."

Nefret obeyed. She placed her hands against the wooden doors, and pushed, entering the hallowed sanctum within.

The scent of burning incense wreathed itself around her, surrounding her in a fragrant cloud. She lifted her gaze slightly to the goddess, before lowering her gaze again to the floor. "You wished to speak to me, My Lady?"

"I did." She was silent for a while, and then Nefret heard the quiet rustle of fine linen. "Look at me."

Nefret felt herself freeze. _Look_ at the goddess? Surely she was not expected to-

"Look at me."

Nefret nervously lifted her gaze, which fell first on the goddess' chin, then her mouth, then her nose, and finally came to rest on her eyes. When that happened, Nefret realized that she could not turn away, intrigued as she was by what she saw: weariness, pain, and something deeper, darker, that Nefret could not begin to fathom.

The goddess smiled, approaching her, and placed a hand gently on her head in benediction. "You are a good person," she said, her voice quiet but certain. "You are young, but you have taken the weight of responsibility very well."

Nefret bowed her head again. "It is my honor that you should think so, My Lady."

"There is one thing I would ask of you. It may be a burden to you, for you must keep what I show you a secret. I ask you: do you accept the burden I shall place on your shoulders?"

Fear suddenly coiled tightly in her stomach, and Nefret could not help but look up at the goddess, suddenly unsure. Why had the goddess decided to call upon her, and not upon someone else? Why her, and not the High Priestess? Surely the High Priestess was more suited for this…

"I believe you are more than ready," the goddess reassured her, and Nefret remembered belatedly that there was nothing she could hide from her.

Nefret bowed her head again, clasping her hands together in front of her. If the goddess herself thought her ready, who was she to deny whatever it was the goddess wished her to do? She stepped back, and bowed. "I am yours to do with as you see fit, My Lady. I beg you: do not let my doubt stop you. I am merely mortal, and my view of myself is not so clear. If you believe me capable of accomplishing the task you set before me, then I am ready to do your bidding."

With her gaze fixed on the goddess' feet, she noticed how she had gone quite still, since the linen of her dress did not so much as ripple. "I am giving you a chance to nay-say my decision. You have but one chance."

Who was she to deny her fate? If this was her fate, then so be it. Nefret looked up at the goddess, meeting her gaze head-on, unafraid. "I am ready, My Lady."

The goddess nodded slowly. "Very well then. Close your eyes."

Nefret did as she was told, and a few heartbeats later her mind reeled as images, sounds and smells crowded themselves into her mind so quickly that she did not have time to identify them all. And yet, as they came to her, they coalesced into knowledge: knowledge of something so great and so terribly sad that it robbed her of the words to describe them.

Almost as quickly as it had started, it was all over. Nefret opened her eyes slowly, and stared at the goddess, who smiled sadly back at her. She would never understand how the goddess accomplished it, but now Nefret _knew_ certain things: in particular, what she and the god from Sumer had been doing since the last flood cycle. She also knew what it was their goddess was going to do – as well as why she had to do it.

"You cannot leave us," she murmured then, her voice no louder than a whisper. "We still need you here, My Lady. We shall continue to need you."

The goddess shook her head, and came closer, reaching out with a square of linen to dab at Nefret's cheeks; she had not even noticed that she was weeping. "It must be done. Our time to walk amongst you has come to an end."

"But My Lady-"

"Hush." The goddess leaned forward, and gently pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You must speak nothing of what I have shown you, do you understand? I have shown it to you because I could trust you, and my faith in you is great."

Nefret swallowed against the lump in her throat, forcing herself not to cry. "It will be as…as you wish, My Lady."

"Good." The goddess stepped back, and Nefret looked at her: graceful and beautiful and now, completely, utterly unreachable. In her later years, Nefret would remember her that way: a goddess in all aspects, save for the heartbreaking sadness in her eyes.

She bowed deeply to the goddess, straightened, and turned around, not daring to look behind her as she exited the inner sanctum and closed the door behind her, knowing that it would never open now, not for anyone or for any reason, knowing that there would be no voice summoning anyone to enter the chambers, to speak a few words with the goddess they had all come to love and serve.

She choked on a sob then, covering her mouth to keep it from escaping, and she squeezed her eyes shut, logic and reason brutally asserting control over her emotions. She would have to keep the secret in every way she possibly could…and she already had the beginnings of a plan in mind.

Nefret straightened slowly, her mind working quickly to order her thoughts. She wiped away all traces of tears from her cheeks, and ensured that none of the emotions that roiled in her heart were visible on her face. As she walked forward, she could already feel the weight of responsibility settle upon her shoulders, but it was a weight she could bear – a weight she _would_ bear.

The goddess had entrusted this secret to her. She would not fail her.

* * *

NOTES:

(1) "Eridu" was one of the oldest Sumerian cities, and was a cult center for the god Enki (a god who would later be called Ea by the Babylonians).

(2) "Het-ka-Ptah" is an ancient Egyptian name for the city of Memphis.


	2. 1: Unusual Finds

**Chapter One: Unusual Finds**

It was nine in the evening, and all was quiet and well in the Ark. This was nothing unusual, since lulls like this were common after a Decepticon attack, and they had been beaten quite soundly in the last battle. It would be a while before Megatron and his cohorts made another attempt at taking over a power plant or some other source of energy. Ratchet had announced earlier that day that the last batch of casualties were finally ready to move back into their own quarters after he had pronounced them fit enough to do so, and hence most of the Ark's residents were either recharging or relaxing.

Most, of course, except for Red Alert, who was currently sitting at his console in the Command Center, ever-vigilant for any potential threat that might come from outside or inside the Ark. Save for a few brief hours every day to refuel and recharge or to answer a summons from his superior officers or Ratchet, he rarely left his station at all. It wasn't that he didn't _trust_ the others, of course. He just felt better if _he_ was the one seeing to the duty of ensuring the Ark's security.

After all, as Security Director, it was what they had hired him to do in the first place. He doubted if they would appreciate any slackness in the fulfillment of his duty – though Inferno did tell him to relax from time to time…

_It's the real authentic  
__Leave ya'll dented  
__Forget what you heard if I said it I meant it  
__Did it for real when ya'll pretend it  
__Back for more I'm starting the war to end it… (1)_

Red Alert sighed quietly, and glanced to the side at the Communications Hub, where Blaster was plugged into the console, listening for any incoming communication signals from fellow Autobots or from any number of the countries they had friendly relations with. Of course, that was what Blaster was _supposed_ to be doing; instead, he was currently listening to more human music, tapping into one of the near-limitless radio signals from all over the world.

Still, Red Alert had come to view the music as a necessary evil; after all, it was probably the only thing that kept Blaster at the console for any length of time, and since he was the best at what he did Red Alert decided to simply put up with and ignore his vagaries, particularly when he started playing his "Pick of the Day" over and over again.

He reminded himself that it was high time he thanked Spike and Carly for giving him those New Age meditation CDs. They had helped him a lot when he had been too keyed-up and worried to recharge properly, or when he simply wanted to drown out Blaster's choice of listening pleasure with something that was a bit more relaxing.

A beeping sound on the console alerted him to an incoming message. He checked its origin, and frowned. The President of Egypt? _That _was a first. Although the Autobots had cultivated cordial relations with many of Earth's countries, Egypt was not exactly one of those that they dealt with on a regular basis.

"Do I get that, Red?" Blaster asked then, finger poised over the button that would put the video feed through.

"Wait." Red Alert ran the feed through several security checks, and confirmed that it was authentic and not some Decepticon trick. He glanced at Blaster, and gave him the go-ahead.

Blaster made a movement that was the Cybertronian equivalent of a human roll of the eyes. "'Bout time," he muttered as he pressed the button. The large screen that stood between their consoles flickered to life, showing the face of a middle-aged man with distinctly Middle Eastern features, seated behind a rather large desk that was dappled by morning sunlight. Red Alert remembered his name: Suleiman Khalil.

President Khalil's smile was pleasant, relaxed, and though it was supposed to put them all at ease, Red Alert's processors kept on telling him that he wouldn't be contacting them unless it was an emergency. He hadn't bothered to before, after all. "Good evening, Autobots."

"Good evening to you too, Mr. President- Or should that be good morning?" Blaster greeted cheerfully, grinning right back. "Anything we can help you with?"

"It isn't the Aswan Dam, is it?" Red Alert blurted out. He had long since identified the Aswan Dam as a very tempting target for Decepticons, and though Prowl had told him that it was a tactically unsound move on the part of the Decepticons to choose targets outside of North and South America, Red Alert knew that one could never be too cautious.

President Khalil laughed, and shook his head. "Ah, no, no, nothing like that, thank Allah. I can assure you now that this is no emergency call. Rather, it is something that I felt must be brought your attention." He sobered up a little bit after that. "Might I speak to Optimus Prime? There is someone who wishes to speak with him."

Red Alert frowned. "So it isn't _you_ who wants to talk to him, Mr. President?"

"Not directly, no, since I am not an expert on the matter in question. I am merely here because it is of great importance, both to my country and to you, so I believe."

"I…see. Who is this person…?"

"Dr. Naila Saab. She is an archaeologist working on a project at the Wadi El Natrun – the head of the project, to be precise." An amused smile crossed President Khalil's face. "She is completely trustworthy, if that is what you wish to know. She will be speaking to us over an encrypted video feed directly from the site, since she cannot afford to leave matters there unattended for very long."

Red Alert did a quick background check on this Dr. Naila Saab, and felt some of his concerns eased. She was a rising star in the field of Egyptology, specializing in the pre-dynastic and Old Kingdom eras, with a clean public record. Satisfied with what he had found, he glanced at Blaster, who flicked a couple of switches and paged Optimus, requesting his presence in the Command Center because the President of Egypt wanted to speak with him.

It did not take them too long to arrive. Moments later the doors to the Command Center hissed open, granting entrance to Optimus Prime, along with Jazz, Prowl, and Ironhide. Red Alert and Blaster moved aside, leaving space enough for the Autobot Commander and his most trusted officers.

"Good morning, President Khalil," Optimus greeted the President with a nod of his head, one which the President returned. "Is everything all right in Egypt?"

"Indeed, it is," the President replied, smiling. "I hope that you are well after that most recent skirmish with the Decepticons."

"Well and all accounted for, Mr. President." Optimus made a gesture towards the others. "I was told that there was something you wished to discuss with me. I hope you do not mind that I have brought my officers with me."

"That is all right. In fact, I think that it might be better to have many opinions, especially where this matter is concerned."

"And what matter might that be?"

"I shall get to that in a moment – or rather, Dr. Saab will." President Khalil pressed a button on a small console near his elbow, and the screen split into two: one half occupied by the face of the President, and the other showing a woman in her thirties, her head wrapped in a colorful scarf. "Optimus Prime, I would like to introduce Dr. Naila Saab, currently heading the excavation project at the Wadi El Natrun."

Dr. Saab nodded her head. "It is an honor, Optimus Prime." He voice was a little low, but quite feminine, her Arabic-accented English pleasant to the audios.

Introductions and pleasantries were exchanged, and Optimus Prime took the discussion directly to the matter at hand. "Dr. Saab, President Khalil said that there was something important you wished to tell us? I must admit, it's unusual for a human archaeologist to wish to speak to us."

Dr. Saab smiled. "Please, call me Naila, and yes, I understand how unusual your position must be right now. I assure you that, when my crew made the discovery, we were not expecting it either."

"Really? What sort of discovery?"

"Evidence that those of your kind were known to humans earlier in Earth's history than anyone previously imagined."

_That _assured her of their attention. Red Alert wondered: how early was "early?" As far as they knew it was barely two decades since they had first encountered humans. Others might have come earlier than they had, like Skyfire and the Insecticons, but the former had been frozen underneath the Arctic ice until the Autobots had pulled him out of it, while the latter had arrived at a time when there were no humans yet, and even when humans evolved they had stayed away from them except to raid them for whatever they could consume as fuel.

"How early are we talking about here?" Optimus inquired.

Naila checked her papers. "Based on the data, I should say during the early years of the Old Kingdom to somewhere before that, within the area of the late fourth millennium BCE or early third millennium BCE. That would mean…roughly six thousand years ago."

Stunned silence settled on everyone in the Command Center, no one moving a servo. And Red Alert knew that they were thinking more or less the same thing: what Naila said was impossible. Any Cybertronians who had made it to Earth arrived before humans had even evolved, and hadn't had contact with them even when they did. The Ark, on the other hand, had crash-landed on Earth four million years ago, and the first contact happened only in the 1980s, when a volcanic eruption brought Teletraan-1 back online, and reactivated everyone on the Ark – regardless of their allegiance.

However, Naila was talking about the existence of contact between humans and Cybertronians _six thousand years ago_ – well before Teletraan-1 was brought back online. How could humans have been aware of them before the 1980s? Was it possible that other Cybertronians had arrived here and made contact with humans, and they had been none the wiser?

Naila frowned slightly. "Judging from your silence, may I safely assume that you were not aware of this?"

"…No." Optimus replied soon after. "But what makes you say that? What sort of evidence have you found?"

"If you will permit me, I shall send you the photographs right now." Naila leaned forward, tapped a few keys, and seconds later they received a few files from her. Red Alert opened them (after running them through a few virus scans, just to be sure), and loaded them on a secondary screen so that everyone could see.

What the images showed was the _last_ thing they expected.

"I don't believe it," Jazz murmured. "They look like us, 'cept all that's missing is an insignia somewhere on 'em to show whether they're Autobots or Decepticons."

Three gigantic statues loomed in the photograph, their shadows stretching upwards behind them and giving them a far more ominous appearance than one might have expected from statues. All three looked like Cybertronians.

While they stared, Naila offered them some explanations regarding the find: "We found these statues in a series of caverns connected to an Old Kingdom temple complex in the Wadi El Natrun. The caverns themselves are older than the temple complex, but since the temple and the statues more or less date to the same time period, we can assume that they were made at roughly the same time that the temple was in use. It implies that contact between Transformers and humans were already well-established by the third millennium BCE, perhaps even earlier."

Optimus nodded. "And that is why you wished to contact us: to verify if these statues are authentic."

"Yes. I did not want to believe it myself, despite all the data to support their authenticity. I thought that the only way I could confirm it for certain was to speak with you." She paused. "Do you know them, perhaps?"

"No, we don't, but I will say that they bear a striking resemblance to those of our kind."

"I see. But why do you seem so troubled?"

Optimus focused on Naila. "We're very surprised because the only time any of us made contact with humans was some twenty years ago, in the 1980s. We had been certain that no one else had done such a thing – until now." He gestured to the pictures.

Naila's face took on a thoughtful cast. "So you know nothing of this." It was more a statement than a question.

"I'm sad to say that we can offer you no information on this matter." Optimus paused, and then added: "If you will permit, Naila, Mr. President, I would like to send a small team of my subordinates there to help in the investigations. We would like to know more about this, if we can."

Naila's face bloomed into a smile. "I would be grateful for whatever help you could provide. We have largely stayed away from the caverns because we do not feel ready to investigate that area yet, but with your aid we might be able to find answers more quickly."

President Khalil nodded in approval. "I will make all the necessary arrangements; all you need to do is tell me how many will be coming, and when."

"I will contact you as soon as I've made a decision," Optimus promised. Farewells were exchanged, and then both the President and Naila cut off their respective video feeds.

"That's the strangest thing Ah've seen in a long, long while," Ironhide muttered then, his optics still focused on the photos as Blaster scrolled through them. "Prahmus, those things sure do look like us, don' they?"

Prowl turned to Optimus. "This does not make sense," he said, his frown indicating to Red Alert that his logic circuits could not completely grasp what they had just found out. "We were certain that any Cybertronians who had made it to Earth before us had never come into contact with humans. Had that been the case, then we would have surely heard about it by now."

Optimus nodded. "I was thinking the same thing, which is why I want to send a small group there to help with the investigations. If those statues do represent Cybertronians, as I think they do, then our team will be able to help Naila's in understanding any clues they might find." He focused his optics on his second-in-command. "Do you have any recommendations on whom we should send?"

"Skids," Prowl replied without hesitation. "He has much knowledge of human and Cybertronian history and anthropology, so he is the best choice for this venture. I also recommend that Jazz accompany him, to keep Skids on-track and to help negotiate with the humans. And finally, I think that Sideswipe should come with them."

"Why Sideswipe?" Optimus asked curiously, though there was the faintest hint of amusement in his voice.

"First, I prefer we err on the side of caution, and since there is the chance the Decepticons know about this as well, it would be good to have a warrior like Sideswipe on hand to protect our team and the humans. Also, I think that a few days out in the desert working alongside humans is suitable punishment after his last project," Prowl deadpanned.

Red Alert remembered that, and he shuddered. A few days before the last Decepticon attack, Sideswipe decided to alleviate his boredom by capturing a few squirrels, and dropping them into the recharge berths of certain mechs – Sunstreaker, Red Alert, and Prowl being only three of them. Of course, _none_ of them had taken it very well: Red Alert remembered how nightmarish it had been to come out of recharge to the feel of something small, furry, and unknown crawling under his chassis. He'd mercifully shorted himself out before he could go any further, and when he came back online it was to the sound of Ratchet giving Sideswipe a thorough chewing out even as he repaired the damage done to him by Sunstreaker. Apparently, Sideswipe's twin hadn't taken very kindly to the little "gift."

Optimus chuckled this time, and nodded. "It sounds like a good team." He glanced at Jazz. "Are you alright with this mission?"

"I'm rarin' to go, Prime," replied the Special Ops Commander, already grinning in anticipation. "Never been to Egypt before, though I always thought it'd be nice to drop by and check it out one day. And don't ya worry; I'll keep ol' Skids and 'Swipe in their place while we're there."

"Good." Optimus nodded at his officers. "Ironhide, Prowl, go and see to the necessary arrangements. I'll send Jazz after you once we've finished talking to the Egyptian President."

Nods of acquiescence were given, and Ironhide and Prowl left the Command Center, while Optimus turned to Blaster, and said: "Blaster, try to get President Khalil on the line for me. We need to talk."

* * *

NOTES:

(1) Lyrics are from the song "Second to None" by Styles of Beyond feat. Mike Shinoda. It was featured in the _Transformers: Live Action_ movie; it's the sound byte Bumblebee plays when Optimus Prime explains his purpose as a guardian to Sam and Mikaela.


	3. 2: Comparisons and Contrasts

**Chapter Two: Comparisons and Contrasts**

The drive from Cairo International to the outlying Wadi El Natrun was dry and dusty, but Jazz wasn't about to complain. The sights that he had seen along the way – from the busy streets of Cairo to the more sedate farming areas outside of the city – were fascinating, completely different from what he was used to seeing in the United States.

Gradually, the signs of life and habitation melted away and became sparser the further they went into the desert, until the only signs of human life were the other vehicles passing by them on the road, or the occasional village in the distance. Up ahead were the hills and valleys of the Wadi El Natrun: a sacred place since ancient times, or so Naila Saab explained as she told them about the history of the area.

-+-Fascinating,-+- Skids said, awed, over the shared radio link that connected all three of the Autobots, allowing them to converse with one another despite being in alt-mode, as well as allowing them to hear what Naila was saying. -+-So you say there are still monasteries up there?-+-

-+-Yes,-+- Naila replied from her place behind the wheel of Skids' alt-mode, and had Jazz been in his primary mode he would have smiled at the tone of amusement in the human woman's voice. -+-Some consider the Wadi to be one of the most sacred sites in Christianity, thanks in large part to the many monasteries that were established there. However, a lot of them were also destroyed during the Muslim Conquest, and now only four remain active. Those are quite old, though: established in the fourth century CE, if I am not mistaken.-+-

-+-Think you could arrange for us to see some of 'em?-+- Jazz asked, already looking forward to the chance to talk to some of the monks. He had always been fascinated by human culture, and the idea that some humans would deliberately isolate themselves from civilization for the sake of contemplation and self-discipline to be utterly intriguing.

Naila hummed softly: a sound she made when she was thinking about something. -+-I doubt I can take you to the active monasteries, but I suppose there would be no harm in taking you to some of the ruins. There is one near the excavation site.-+-

-+-So we won't be able to talk to any monks?-+- Skids' voice made his disappointment clear, and Jazz had to have a laugh at that.

Naila found it funny too, because she laughed, and replied: -+-Unfortunately, no.-+-

While Naila explained to Skids why that was, Jazz decided to switch to Sideswipe's radio frequency; the red Lamborghini had been quiet since they left the airport. -+-You okay over there, 'Swipe?-+-

Sideswipe's reply dripped with sarcasm worthy, so Jazz felt, of Ratchet himself. -+-Gee, let me think about that. I'm baking under this heat, with sand in my chassis and nothing interesting to do. You tell me if I'm okay.-+-

Jazz chuckled. -+-It can't be that bad 'Swipe. I mean, c'mon! We're doing something interesting for once, something that doesn't involve them 'Cons!-+-

-+-I'd like the 'Cons, thank you. At least I can use my pile-drivers on something that'll actually scream blue murder when I hit it hard enough.-+-

Naila's voice interrupted right then. -+-We are near the excavation site now.-+-

Jazz checked his coordinates, and found that, indeed, they were fairly close. -+-Where to from here, Naila?-+-

-+-We are not going to the temple itself, since there is no entrance there large enough for you to get into the caverns. Turn left at the next junction, and follow the path. It should take us to a larger cave close to the back that leads directly to the chamber where we found the statues.-+-

-+-I hear ya.-+- He found the path easily enough, and turned smoothly into it. It turned out to be a rather narrow gap between two hills, forcing them to drive in a line. Jazz took the lead, letting Skids stay in the middle with Naila, while Sideswipe took the back. It was only when they were all in the valley that Jazz realized they'd automatically fallen into a tactically-sound defensive formation when traversing such terrain.

The realization both amused and depressed him: amused him because it was something that Prowl would have thought of, but depressed him because it was another reminder of how dangerous the world was, and how that knowledge had become so ingrained in their processors that taking defensive formations was now practically second nature to them. He wondered if there would be a time when they would be able to laugh off such precautions…and thought better of it. For now, it was best that they were on their guard.

-+-There it is.-+-

At hearing Naila's statement, Jazz focused his external visual sensors up ahead, and sighted the entrance to a cave, tall enough and wide enough to allow even someone as large as Optimus Prime to pass through comfortably. -+-Do we just go straight in?-+- he asked Naila.

-+-Yes. You may transform when we reach the interior. There is room enough there for you to accomplish that.-+-

-+-Gotcha.-+- Jazz picked up speed, and soon he was past the archway and inside the cool interior, which was a lot wider than the path that led them to it. Safely inside, and a little glad to be out of the heat, Jazz transformed into his primary mode, giving himself a shake to dislodge the sand from his chassis.

Behind him, Sideswipe and Skids came in, and after the latter let Naila out, transformed into their own primary modes, shaking out sand from joints and underneath armor. Sideswipe, in particular, did not look the least bit pleased about the situation, muttering obscenities in Cybertronian that Jazz didn't particularly care to hear.

Skids, however, was looking all around him then, his optics glowing brightly in the dim light of the cavern. "Incredible," he breathed. "There's so much space!"

Naila nodded as she adjusted her headscarf, making sure that it did not slip off. "We presume that that was the reason why this cavern was chosen by the ones who made the statues."

"How'd you find this entrance, then?" Jazz asked as he did a quick, preliminary scan of the area, and finding nothing really dangerous or interesting just yet.

"It is rather ironic, now that I think about it. Tomb robbers were operating in this area, looking for gold and jewels that might have been hidden here. One of their explosives revealed this cavern – apparently the entrance was blocked by a very fragile covering of debris. This was just before we found the entrance behind the temple; we had not even known about the tomb robbers or this entrance until we found our end of the cavern." It was only then that Jazz noticed Naila was wearing sturdy hiking boots, perfectly suited for traversing rough terrain if need be.

When Jazz had first met Naila after Skyfire had dropped him and his team off at Cairo International, he had been a little surprised to see how small she was: five-foot-three, according to his estimates, and dressed in well-worn khaki cargo pants, and a white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She appeared to be taken aback by him and his companions at first, but she quickly warmed up to them, especially when Skids started firing questions at her about her work, as well as questions about ancient Egyptian history in general. They were barely out of Cairo before the three of them had established a friendly rapport, one that Jazz was more than happy to foster.

If Sideswipe opted to be left out, well, that was _his_ problem for being such a grump.

He knelt down, holding his hand out to Naila. "Might be better if you rode on m' shoulder, li'l lady. You can tell us where to go from here."

Naila glanced at his shoulder, and Jazz, who was more or less familiar now with human facial expressions, saw doubt flicker over her features. In response, he grinned. "I won't let you fall off. Promise."

The woman gave him another look, but after a while she seemed to come to a decision. "Very well." She climbed onto his palm, and he carefully lifted her up onto his shoulder. Gingerly, she stepped off his hand and onto his shoulder, gripping onto the edge of his helm for balance before sitting down, albeit a bit stiffly.

"All right then, here we go!" Jazz stood up from his kneeling position, making the movement as smooth as he could for the sake of the human now perched on his shoulder. He scanned the area again, taking note that the chamber they were in continued straight for several feet, before it diverged into three different paths. "Where next?"

"Keep going east from here," Naila replied, her voice sounding just a little queasy to his audios. "It will take us directly to the Statue Chamber. The excavation team knows that you will be arriving anyway."

They started walking in that direction, the Autobots' considerably longer legs eating up a distance that would have taken Naila a long time to get from the entrance just to reach the Statue Chamber. Behind him, he heard Skids quiet sounds of exclamation, and Jazz had the brief image of his head doing a full 360-degree turn on his shoulders – an image that made him chuckle.

"Is something funny?" Naila asked then, still sounding quite tense.

"Nothin' much," Jazz answered mirthfully. "Just had this image of Skids' head goin' round and round on his shoulders from tryin' to see everything."

Sideswipe snorted then, and Skids uttered an offended, "Hey!" from behind, making Sideswipe laugh harder. Naila laughed softly as well, and but she sobered up quickly as they entered a large chamber. "We are here."

And indeed they were, if the statues nearby were any indication. They had appeared bigger in the pictures than they really were; in fact, the largest one was about the same size as Optimus. That one was standing in the center, while the two other, slightly shorter ones flanked it on either side.

No sooner had they arrived than Skids was in front of the center statue, peering up at it with intense curiosity. Even Sideswipe was looking at the one nearest to him with a certain amount of interest. Jazz did the same for the third, and frowned slightly. Upon closer inspection, he realized that the statues were not as detailed as he had thought from the photos. They lacked the details on the joints and joins that were typical to their kind, and there was nothing that remotely looked like wiring. They _looked_ like Cybertronians on the surface, but many of the details that would have clearly marked them out as such were not there.

For some strange reason, the idea bothered him.

"I don't believe this," Skids uttered in amazement as he leaned in closer to the statue, his optics flickering and glowing in a pattern that Jazz knew meant Skids was running his higher-end scanning software. "There isn't a single seam on this thing!"

"Then these statues must have been carved from one block of stone each," Naila remarked, and though she did not sound too surprised, she did sound impressed.

"Truly impressive, especially since there aren't any tool marks either."

This time, Naila sounded surprised – apparently she wasn't expecting that. "What? That is impossible. There must be _some_ tool marks."

Skids turned to look at her, shaking his head. "I've run some pretty thorough scans on this thing, and I don't see any tool marks at all."

Sideswipe shrugged. "Maybe they were polished out or something." He was leaning almost companionably against the nearest statue, and only straightened with a scowl when Skids gave him a withering look.

Naila frowned. "Even such a process leaves marks, particularly when we consider the fact that these were made during a time when technology in this area consisted of nothing more than a few bronze tools." She grabbed onto Jazz's helm again, standing up. "Please, let me have a look."

Jazz moved next to Skids, and lifted a hand to act as a platform between his shoulder and the theoretician's. "What d'you mean there's no tool marks, Skids?"

"I did a scan on the surface of the stone, and it's perfectly smooth," Skids answered while Naila peered at the part where the head of the statue met the neck. "Naila's right; there's usually tool marks on these sorts of things, even if they're supposed to be smooth. But there's none on this statue at all." He paused, and opened his mouth as if to say something more, but then stopped, and clamped his mouth shut with a click.

Jazz tilted his head. "Well? What were you gonna say?"

Skids glanced at Naila for a moment, but the archaeologist seemed too engrossed with something on the statue's neck. Jazz heard the familiar crackle of static in his audios that indicated someone attempting to make a connection on his personal frequency, and when he allowed it come through, he heard Skids say: -+-I don't want to say anything out loud in front of Naila just yet, but between you and me, I'd think that these statues were…well…they look almost organic, from the way they were shaped.-+-

+---+---+

-+-… Organic.-+-

Skids resisted the urge to wince at the tone of Jazz's voice over the radio link. There was no denying the incredulity there – not that he could blame him. Stone was hardly a material that one could consider organic, so to use the term in reference to the statue just didn't seem to fit.

-+-I know, it sounds stupid, but I've got no other word for it. It's as if someone had shaped this statue out of clay. You've seen how humans do that, right?-+-

Jazz frowned. -+-But that's not clay.-+-

-+-I know. It's granite, which can be hard to shape properly. But I've scanned it several times over, and there's nothing there: no tool marks, no nothing to indicate what was used to shape it.-+-

"Skids?"

He broke off the connection then, and focused his attention on Naila, who was now standing on his shoulder, her hand gripping the side of his head for balance. "Yeah?"

"Please put me down. I need to look at the inscription at the foot of the statue."

_That_ got his attention. "Inscription?" The pictures she'd sent to the Autobots had only shown the statues themselves, and did not capture any inscriptions – not that Skids had noticed, since he'd been too focused on the statue itself. He knelt down slowly, letting Naila use his hand as a platform so that she could step down safely from his shoulder. "There's an inscription?"

"Yes, though the writing is not something we recognize, since it bears no similarities to anything that exists or existed on Earth." She looked up at him, and her serious gaze indicated that she would now have to rely on _their _expertise. "It was about these writings that I wished to ask for your help, aside from identifying the statues."

The thrill that passed through his spark was undeniable. He transformed into his alt-mode, since that was the only way he was going to get close enough to the ground to see the inscriptions, and turned on his headlights to get a good look at the writing.

And promptly felt something at the back of his processors nag at him. He had _seen_ that writing before – or at least, he had seen some of the symbols. They looked familiar, like something he had come across way back when on Cybertron, when he had been delving in Iacon's massive library for whatever information he might have been interested in. But the question was: in what context had he seen them? He vaguely remembered a connection to a time when the Quintessons still used Cybertron as their personal factory for war and civilian machines, as well as something to do with planetary conquest, but the rest of it was just a little too-

His energy sensors suddenly screamed blue murder at him, alerting him to something very powerful within the vicinity. Almost immediately, he went back into his primary mode, glancing at Jazz and Sideswipe for confirmation. Apparently, they too had picked up the energy spike, and were currently looking around the chamber warily. Sideswipe had even gone so far as to pull his rifle from subspace, ready to fight.

"What is going on?" Naila demanded. "What is happening?"

"Don't know just yet, li'l lady," Jazz replied. "Still tryin' to figure it out."

Sideswipe turned to him then. "It's coming from this chamber," he said, his voice low and level, like it usually was when he was trying to pinpoint an unseen Decepticon. "Can't get a good fix on it though."

"You think it's a 'Con?" Jazz asked as he, too, took out his rifle.

Sideswipe shook his head. "Can't say for sure. Doesn't read like one, but still…"

"You can never be too sure," Skids finished as he, too, took out his own weapon: a liquid nitrogen rifle. It was difficult, trying to get a precise fix on the strange energy surge, or even to identify just _what_ sort of energy it was. All he knew was that, whatever it was, it was very strong, and hence very dangerous.

The shuddering of the rock beneath his feet was mild, but it was more than enough to make Naila grab onto his foot to steady herself – and none too soon, because the shudder became stronger, and this time was accompanied by a deep, dull roar that, for some reason that Skids could not comprehend, seemed to come from directly _behind_ him…

"_Skids!"_

Naila's shriek made him turn around, and he watched, with widening optics, as glowing bright green lines suddenly seemed to appear from out of nowhere on the statue's body, running through its arms and legs and twining across its body and up its neck until they disappeared, only to pool in the spaces where the statue's eyes had been carved, causing them to flare to life with a brilliant light. Those eyes seemed to focus on him, and then the statue emitted a soft growl that sounded like the rumble of boulders rolling down a mountainside as it stepped off the pedestal, and headed right for him. Next to it, the two other statues glowed with the same light, and stepped off their pedestals, their stances menacing and dangerous.

It was then that Sideswipe chose to utter the word that best described their current situation:

"_Slag!_"


	4. 3: Puppets of Stone and Flesh

**Chapter Three: Puppets of Stone and Flesh**

It was the _last_ thing that Sideswipe had expected. He had dealt with more than a few nasty surprises before, both on Earth and on Cybertron, but there was nothing that could match up to statues that suddenly came to life. He kept his gaze on the one that had just stepped off the pedestal and was currently walking towards him, watching it carefully to predict its moves. He might not have had Prowl's battle computer, but he _was_ one of the Autobots' best warriors – a reputation he had justifiably earned.

Underneath the soft rumbling sound emitted by the statues, he heard Jazz say: "Best ta run hide for now, li'l lady. There's no tellin' what these things'll do."

"I know _exactly _what they'll do," Skids muttered as, with a sharp hum that seemed just a shade too high for Sideswipe's audios to pick up long, spear-like weapons suddenly appeared in the statues' hands, made of that strange energy that ran and pulsed through the stone of the statues. "They'll turn us all into hot piles of slag."

"Not if _I _can help it," Sideswipe muttered, optics narrowing as he watched the statue come towards him. His fuel pump thumped once, twice…

And then the statues came charging at them, spears lifted high and aimed right for their spark chambers.

In that moment, everything seemed to fade away until it felt as if it was just him and the statue in the chamber. With a grunt, Sideswipe ducked and rolled out of the way, the statue's energy spear singing past just a few inches above his helm. In a move borne of many vorns of practice and practical experience, he got onto his feet, took aim, and shot the statue in the back.

The fragger didn't even _flinch._

"Slag, slag, slag…" Sideswipe chanted the swear word like a mantra under his breath as he fired another shot as the statue turned around to face him. It merely twirled its spear, and deflected the beam with an ease and finesse that the Autobot both admired and detested. He fired again, this time going for the fingers on the statue's hand. Though the shot connected and smoked against the granite knuckles, the statue did not relax its grip for a moment.

The statue was facing him fully now, and Sideswipe found himself staring straight into pools of eerie green eldritch light. He had stared more than a few 'Cons and even a couple of 'Bots down in the optics this way, but this statue gave him a cold feeling in his tanks. Though many humans had difficulty doing so, Sideswipe could tell when there was life in a Cybertronian's optics – any Cybertronian could, when it came to their own kind.

But those eyes…optics…whatever they were that stared back at him were as dead as the stone that framed them. There was no life there, no spark, not even a "soul" as the humans liked to call whatever it was that kept them ticking. Whatever was attacking him was nothing more than a giant puppet.

A _dangerous_ puppet, Sideswipe reminded himself as the statue launched itself at him, the spear lancing a bright, deadly path before it. Knowing then that his rifle was useless, he put it back in subspace, crouched down a little, and launched himself at the statue, sending the both of them crashing onto the floor in a landing that shook the cavern and echoed against its walls like a steady roll of thunder. Heedless of Skids and Jazz's cries of warning to watch out for Naila, Sideswipe proceeded to pummel at the statue's chest area, chunks of rock flying everywhere even as the statue kicked and struggled underneath him.

In the midst of all that flying rock, Sideswipe's optics caught a glint of something bright underneath the stone that made up the statue's chest. The more he pummeled at it, the more of it was revealed: a crystal emanating the same green light that permeated the statue's eyes.

Sideswipe immediately sensed that, whatever this was, it was the statue's driving force; similar, in a way, to the spark chambers that powered a Cybertronian. Transforming his right hand into a pile-driver, he pulled back, preparing to shatter the crystal to pieces.

But the statue emitted a shriek akin to large chunks of rock sliding against one another, and threw him off with an almighty shove. Sideswipe, however, was ready, and in the few seconds between getting pushed away and landing on his feet, he transformed the pile-driver back into his hand, pulled his rifle out of subspace, and aimed. As soon as his feet touched ground, he pulled the trigger, sending a photon beam straight at the exposed crystal.

This time, the shot took effect, shattering the crystal into a thousand shimmering fragments. The moment it did, the energy spear in the statue's hand disappeared, and it seemed to seize up in mid-step before falling down, face-first, to the ground, its limbs breaking apart when the material it was made of was unable to hold up under the force of impact.

Now that he knew how to kill them, Sideswipe quickly relayed the information via radio to Skids and Jazz, even as he turned to give the former a hand with the statue that, at the moment, had the theoretician backed into a corner. He didn't need to know if Jazz was okay; as far as he was concerned, the slippery Special Ops Commander would be out of whatever trouble he had gotten himself into in no time flat, now that Sideswipe had told him how to defeat the statues.

Skids, who was a scientist first and a warrior a rather distant second, was a different story.

Transforming both his hands into pile-drivers, Sideswipe grinned wickedly as he slammed both into the statue's back, exposing a wide swath of green crystal: and earning him an enraged roar from the thing as it turned around to face him. He backed away quickly, still grinning as he switched from pile-drivers back to hands, pulling out his rifle once more. "Wanna play with me, huh, you ugly son of a glitch?"

There was a soft, dangerous hum in the air as the statue twirled its spear in preparation for attack, but just before it could take another step, there was the sound of shattering crystal, and the light in its eyes and across its body faded gradually, until nothing was left but cold, unemotional stone. Skids emerged from behind the now-still statue, his liquid nitrogen rifle smoking a little at the end. He nodded at Sideswipe, acknowledging the Lamborghini's help in saving his aft.

There was a loud "crack!" from Sideswipe's left, and when he and Skids looked, he saw Jazz emerge from underneath a large pile of rubble that had once been the third and the last statue. The black-and-white Porsche gave himself a shake, and brushed off chips of granite and crystal from his frame. "Phew! That was one close call!" He grinned and nodded at Sideswipe. "Nice save there, 'Swipe!"

Sideswipe grinned. "What'd you do without me, huh?"

"Hey."

Sideswipe glanced at Skids. "What?"

Skids' face was perturbed. "Where's Naila?"

* * *

Jazz blinked at Skids' question. "Shouldn't she be around here somewhere?" He gestured to the cavern, trying to not to wince at the amount of damage that their scuffle had done. "There's lots o' places she could hide behind here." 

That much, at least, was true, since there were quite a few boulders around that were large enough to hide a human that far enough from the fight to be considered relatively safe.

"She's not here," Skids insisted. "I was the one blocking the statue to stop it from getting to her. If she dashed off someplace I would have seen her."

"Maybe she got out after we took down that statue," Sideswipe suggested with a careless shrug. "She's a smart woman; she must've had enough sense to run when things started getting dangerous."

"But-"

The high-pitched scream that tore through the air and reverberated off the cavern walls made Jazz's audio receptors rattle in ways that he never thought possible. Wincing against the sound, he automatically adjusted his audios to compensate for the volume, only to realize that scream could only have come from one source: Naila.

The three Autobots exchanged glances, but it was only for a very brief moment, because they were already off at a tearing speed even as the second scream flooded their audios.

"Aw, frag it all!" Skids swore viciously as they raced out of the cavern and back the way they came, stopping at an intersection. Though they knew that the one headed west would take them back to the entrance they came through, there were two more paths that branched out from this particular area: one leading northwest, the other leading south. "Where do we go now?"

Jazz kept quiet, trying to carefully filter out all the ambient noise produced by the echoes. That was, after all, their main problem: all that sound bouncing around off the walls made it hard to trace it back to the source. He let his sensors do the work, and in a few moments he was able to filter out all the annoying noise and get down to the original one.

"She's that way," he said, and led his team to the northwest. Mechanoid feet thudded after him as he made his way to the source – only to stop short at another chamber.

An elaborately decorated chamber.

Behind him, he heard Sideswipe and Skids' footsteps thundering against the cavern walls, only to come to a dead halt as soon as they entered the space where Jazz was. They, too, seemed to have been caught off-guard by what they were seeing.

"Holy Primus…" Skids breathed.

Indeed, Jazz would have said the same thing, if he wasn't so busy staring all around him. Though the space itself was small and the ceiling barely high enough to clear Sideswipe's head, every single inch of the rock was covered in elaborate designs of an entirely alien nature – "alien" meaning that, as far as Jazz was concerned, he had seen _nothing_ like them on Earth or even on Cybertron. Pillars that reached up to his knee joint – each one an individual work of art given the detail that seemed to have gone into their carving – were arranged in a semi-circle around what appeared to be a rectangular sarcophagus, made of a highly-polished black stone and covered in a pattern that made it look as if a flowering vine of some sort was wrapped and twined around the whole.

His gaze dropped lower, to the foot of the pedestal on which the sarcophagus rested, and he felt relief flood his system when he saw Naila kneeling there. However, his relief quickly turned to concern when he saw that she seemed to be rocking back and forth, her hands planted firmly over her ears as if she was trying to block out some sort of noise.

"Naila?" he queried softly, kneeling down so that he was at a lower level and hence cut a less intimidating figure to the human. "Are you okay, li'l lady?"

He thought he could hear her mumbling something, but he could not quite make it out. Adjusting his audios to improve his pickup, he focused on her again, and this time, he heard her. "Leave them alone…"

Jazz frowned. "Leave who alone?"

But it seemed that she couldn't hear him, and instead was talking to some other unseen entity, one that only she could hear – and it appeared as if she was trying to block that entity out. Nevertheless, she kept on talking: "Please, I beg you, leave them alone… They are friends, _friends_… Do you know- No, no, no, _no_!"

That was the last straw. Unable to bear what was happening to the small human woman, Jazz reached out to touch her, to bring her back to her senses somehow, though he wasn't quite sure how he was going to accomplish that. Just before he touched her, however, an unseen force slammed right into him, throwing him back against the wall – and held him there. He struggled against it, tried to free himself, but it was to no avail. The only thing that he could move was his head; everything else might as well have been welded to the rock around him.

"What the _frag_?!"

That was Sideswipe to his left, and when he looked to his right, he saw Skids pinned to the wall there, looking completely, utterly stunned. When Jazz turned his head to look forward, he found out why.

There was a brief time when Jazz had been thoroughly intrigued by the concept of street magicians, particularly David Blaine. Of all the tricks that he had seen Blaine perform, it was the levitation trick that interested him the most. While he knew that there had to be _something_ holding Blaine up whenever he performed that trick, he had to admit, it looked pretty realistic on TV.

But when he saw Naila hovering two feet off the ground, with her dark hair loose and long around her head after her scarf had somehow fallen off, he knew that what he was seeing was no trick – especially _not_ when he saw the strange glitter in her Naila's eyes, a glitter that did not seem entirely human to him.

His suspicion was confirmed when she spoke: "Foul metallic death-bringers," she hissed, speaking with a far different accent from what he had come to associate with her. "How _dare_ you come to this planet?!"

* * *

Skids blinked in surprise at that statement. What in the world was Naila going on about? 

"What the _Pit_ are you talking about?!" Sideswipe demanded.

A light seemed to flare in Naila's eyes then as she turned to Sideswipe. "Silence! I shall have no parley with you! Whatever the reason that you have come here, I shall see to it that you do not fulfill your goals!"

Skids frowned. Something continued to nag him from the back of his processors, some old and now-fragmented information stored in the depths of his memory banks that he was now having difficulty accessing. Everything that he had seen so far – the writing on the pedestals, the patterns on the walls of this cul-de-sac, the way that Naila called them "foul metallic death-bringers" – all if it seemed to fit and connect somehow, he just could not put the pieces together…

"Naila!" That was Jazz. "Naila, stop it! Let us go!"

Naila looked at Jazz then, her gaze cold. "I am protecting the human. She knows _nothing_ of your kind, _nothing_ of the horrors that you visited upon my home!" Her eyes narrowed. "It may have been a very long time since you came and nearly laid waste to my planet and enslaved my people, but we _remember._"

Skids' narrowed his optics in concentration as he dug through old files in his memory as fast as he could. What Naila had just said led him down another path of inquiry, and led him to a set of files that he had managed to commit to memory while he was still on Cybertron: something to do with some very old memoirs he had found, written by Cybertronians who had returned from a distant mining colony that the Quintessons used to hold. Apparently, the planet was already inhabited by sentient life forms, but the Quintessons…what had they done…?

Following threads of logic as they came to him, he came upon a random file, and when he opened it, all the information contained in it came flooding back to him. He gasped in stunned surprise, realizing why the writing on the pedestals and the patterns on the wall had seemed so familiar to him: he had _read_ about them before, long ago, in Iacon. They were not the same as the ones he had encountered in his reading, but he could see similarities, for they were created by the same race, the same culture.

And that race was _not_ Cybertronian.

"I know what she is," he murmured, and then shook his head rapidly before switching to their shared radio frequency, knowing for sure that Naila – or rather, whoever was using Naila as a vessel – would not be able to hear their conversation. -+-Jazz, 'Swipe, I know what she is!-+-

-+-'Course you know what she is,-+- Sideswipe grunted in reply. -+-She's _human_, and when I get free from this wall, so help me Primus, I'll…-+-

-+-No, no, that's not what I meant! Naila's human, yes, but there's _something else_ controlling her, using her as a vessel. And I know what that is!-+-

-+-Well, you'd better tell us quick, 'cause I don't like the way she's lookin',-+- Jazz stated.

Indeed, when Skids took a quick look at Naila, he noticed that her gaze seemed far away, as if she was not seeing them – or anything else around her, for that matter – at the moment. Taking advantage of her distraction, he quickly relayed what he knew to his comrades.


	5. 4: Whispers of the Past

**Chapter Four: Whispers of the Past**

'_Please, I beg you, have mercy on them!'_

'_Tell me: why should I give them mercy? You do not know what they are capable of. You do not know what they can do. I do not know what promises they made to you, but understand this: if they have come here, then they mean nothing but harm to you and your race. They carry weapons of war; they are nothing more than destroyers!'_

'_They carry weapons because they are at war themselves! They are _protectors_! They have defended this planet from the destruction brought on by others like them.'_

'_There now, you see?'_

'_These are _different_! They mean no harm to humans!'_

'… _We shall see about that.'_

* * *

-+-…And that's what I found out in my files.-+-

Jazz stared, first at Skids, then at Naila. -+-Lemme get this straight: you're sayin' that Naila over there isn't _really_ Naila, but that one of those…Maraxans, did you call 'em…? One of those has actually taken control of her body?-+-

Skids nodded. -+-Exactly. They're an organic race with psionic powers – apparently strong enough to use those powers offensively, according to the memoirs I read in Iacon. I'm just making some conjectures at the moment, since none of the memoirs state that possession of another body was something they could do, but those records date all the way back to the first few vorns of the Golden Age. Who knows what the Maraxans could have accomplished since that time?-+-

-+-And those statues?-+-

-+-I was getting to that. Apparently, the Quintessons conquered the planet Maraxa at a time when the Maraxans hadn't developed a complex civilization, which made them easy pickings. It was one of the first times that the Quintessons used Cybertronians to conquer a planet, using a combination of war- and civilian-types. Something happened along the way, though, and the Maraxans' psionic abilities got really, really strong, and on top of that, they allied themselves with some of the Cybertronians. I don't know what the statues are called, but the reason why they look so much like us is because their design was based _on_ us – or rather, those Cybertronians who were on Maraxa and on their side. The green crystal is the energy source, one that the Maraxans produce themselves. The memoirs mentioned that they were powerful enough to power a ship that the Maraxans and Cybertronians built to help get the Cybertronians home.-+-

-+-Wait a nano-klik,-+- Sideswipe interrupted then. -+-You're saying that the crystals we just smashed were strong enough to a power a ship _all the way to Cybertron_?-+-

-+-Well, maybe not in the sizes that were found in the statues, but it's possible that larger ones could have been used.-+-

Jazz was beginning to feel a little overwhelmed by the information that Skids had presented. There was a lot of information missing there, but Skids had offered them some very crucial information: whoever was controlling Naila would probably listen to them if they reminded him – or her – about the history that they shared.

-+-Hey Skids, you know anythin' I could possibly say to this Maraxan to show we're on _her_ side, and that there's no need to keep us pinned 'gainst this wall?-+-

-+-Give me a klik.-+- Skids went silent for a while, and then answered: -+-This is the only phrase I could find. I don't know what the heck it means, but try it anyway.-+-

Jazz listened carefully as Skids gave him the phrase, and after rehearsing it a few times in his processors, he looked at Naila, and said, very clearly: "_Mai sadun tu arasel nou ouros miet._"

Pit, had he even _said_ that right?

Naila jerked visibly, and when she looked at Jazz, her eyes wide and confused. "What…?"

Unsure if he had gotten it right – maybe the language had a tonal component like Chinese? – Jazz decided to say the phrase again, but this time choosing to make it sound a little less stiff and formal: "_Mai sadun tu arasel nou ouros miet._"

"How do you know that?" Naila (or whoever was controlling Naila) demanded as she seemed to levitate higher, and drifted closer so that she was only two feet away from Jazz's face. "How is it that you know the language of my people?"

Jazz smiled slightly. "You can say we know who your people are. It's a bit fuzzy right now, but we know what happened to your planet." He tilted his head. "Don't you remember your history no more?"

She blinked, and seemed to be thinking hard about something. At length, she frowned, and shook her head. "That is long in the past. Those whom we remember no longer exist." Her eyes narrowed in what Jazz assumed were the beginnings of anger. "Now tell me: where did you learn to speak the language of my people?"

_That _was not the answer Jazz had been hoping for. -+-Skids, I could really use your help, buddy!-+-

Skids did not respond to him over the radio, and instead, spoke directly to Naila: "But we _didn't _forget." When she turned to look at him, he smiled at her gently, almost sadly. "Not all of us, at any rate. It's been a long time since our two races worked alongside one another, but there are still those among us who remember something of Maraxa and the struggle against the Quintessons."

Naila blinked, and her anger seemed to bleed out of her – much to Jazz' relief – as she drifted over to Skids. "The Watchers said that your people had all become machines of war."

Skids seemed a bit thrown by that, but Jazz had to congratulate the theoretician for his subsequent save: "And that's true, but you have to understand: my people are fighting against each other now. It's either we arm ourselves, or die."

Naila was quiet, unmoving, and then a fleetingly sad smile emerged on her face even as she lowered herself to the ground. "So the human was telling the truth," she murmured, and she closed her eyes. "How strange to find out that our races, so different in form and ability, are both caught in the same struggle."

Jazz frowned. "What d'you mean?"

But she ignored his question, and instead looked up at Skids. "This human has given me her word that you shall bring no harm to me, and moreover, you may even help me. Shall you do this? Do you give me your word that what she says is true?"

-+-Jazz?-+- Skids queried, and Jazz gave him a nod to signal a go-ahead. It was a fair deal, after all, and at that moment, helping whoever they were speaking to at the moment was a small price to pay for being let go.

Having thus received approval from his superior officer, Skids focused on Naila, and replied: "Of course, but will you answer our questions about you and your people?"

Jazz smiled wryly. He had to give Skids props for that little stipulation. It would ensure that they got to ask questions, and – should they receive an agreement to the terms – a measure of certainty that they would get answers.

Silence for a while, and then she answered: "I suppose it is only fair. Very well, I shall answer your questions as best as I may. Thus I have spoken, thus I have promised." With that, she closed her eyes, and suddenly, Naila collapsed, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. At the same time, whatever had been holding Jazz and his comrades against the wall suddenly released them as well, and they all landed on their feet at the same time.

Jazz knelt down over Naila, but it was Skids who had gone to her side first, his relatively smaller hands helping to keep Naila steady.

"Are you okay, Naila?" the theoretician asked, very much concerned over the archaeologist's condition.

Naila coughed a few times, and slowly rose, holding onto Skids' hand for support as she got onto her feet, and stood, albeit a little shakily. "Yes… Yes, I am fine, thank you." She was speaking normally now, with her Arabic-accented English, and not in that strange accent earlier. She looked around. "Where is my scarf?"

Jazz spotted it lying near his feet. He picked it up, and, smiling wryly, handed it to her. "Looks like you had a rough time there, li'l lady. You sure you okay?"

"I had a difficult time convincing her that you were friends, that the last thing you would do was harm humans." She shook the grit out of her scarf, put it back over her hair, and then looked up at him. "She has left me…instructions."

"She?"

"The one who took spoke to you through me." Jazz noticed that Naila seemed careful not to mention the fact that they had also been held against the wall. "Her name is Meriat la Telescos mat Tir."

"So where is she?" Sideswipe cut in then as he checked himself for damage. "I've got a lot of things I'd like to say to this Meriat what's-her-name."

Naila straightened, and pushed away from Skids. On gradually-strengthening legs, she moved towards the pedestal, and climbed the short flight of steps to the black stone sarcophagus. She laid a hand on the lid, and looked up at the three Autobots, her expression solemn. "She is in here."

Sideswipe seemed to choke in disbelief. "You mean she's _dead_?!"

Naila shook her head. "No." Her brow furrowed, and she touched the side of her head, as if trying to ward off an impeding headache. "She says that she will explain, but not now. She asks that you take out the coffin inside this sarcophagus, and take that with us."

Jazz' optics flickered once – the Cybertronian equivalent of a human blink. "Us?" he queried.

Naila smiled wearily. "Yes. She requests that I come with you. She needs…" She swallowed, as if her throat had suddenly gone dry, then continued: "She needs me at the moment, so she can continue to communicate with you. She cannot speak with you directly while she is in her current state."

Jazz was quiet, trying to come up with a plan of action. Transportation, he knew, wouldn't be a problem, nor would it be too difficult to put Naila up for a while. But confronting the humans with what they had found and what they were taking away with them…_that_ was going to be a very big problem. With a grimace, he thought of the statues that they had only recently destroyed.

Jazz glanced at their human companion. "Naila, could you ask Meriat if she's fine with leavin' this place just the way it is? 'Cause, honestly, I'm not really comfy with the idea. I don't think the other archaeologists are gonna be happy when they find out how badly we trashed the place, or that we're runnin' off with what they'd consider an important discovery."

Naila blinked, and when she glanced up at Jazz, it looked as if her eyes had changed a little bit in quality. Her gaze seemed far away, as if she could see someone that they could not.

Her eyes widened slightly. "Must we? Truly?" She did not speak again for a while, and then she sighed, her head bowed. "Very well then, you have made a very good point." She looked up at Jazz again, and her eyes were back to normal. "She says that we must bury all of this again, and ensure that nothing and no one can find their way in."

"What?!" Skids choked.

Naila turned to Skids with a sad smile. "Believe me, to do such a thing grieves me as much as it does you, Skids, but she has a very good point. There is no need for others to find out about the existence of her kind – not right now, at any rate." She turned once more to Jazz. "She does request, however, that you take her coffin in the sarcophagus, as well as something else underneath it. She also asks that you recover a stone chest that is hidden under the center pedestal where the statues attacked you."

Sideswipe narrowed his optics. "Hold on there. How'd she know they attacked us if she wasn't even there?"

"I do not know." Naila gave Sideswipe a weary glance. "There is much that I do not know, and she does not wish to say anything at this point in time. She knows that for me to speak to her is…very tiring, on my part."

Jazz nodded, wanting to just get all of this over and done with. If it was as Naila said, and talking to Meriat was hard on her, then for Naila's sake he didn't want her communicating with Meriat unless absolutely necessary. "Right: a deal's a deal." He turned to Sideswipe and Skids. "'Swipe, you go and get that chest. Skids and I'll stay here and get what's under the sarcophagus."

Sideswipe frowned. "Why me?"

"'Cause you're the only one with the pile-drivers," Jazz answered, his voice once again taking a more cheerful tone now that it seemed any imminent danger had passed.

Sideswipe sighed, and as soon as Jazz was sure that he was well on his way, he turned back to Naila, only to find her and Skids standing beside the sarcophagus, seemingly discussing something about it.

"-diorite," he heard Naila say just as he came closer. "A hard and very durable stone, very difficult to carve."

"A pity that it's going to have to be buried under so much dirt and rock, never to be seen again," Skids said; his expression mournful as he ran a hand over the sarcophagus. "Just look at that craftsmanship!"

Jazz smiled, and patted Skids on the shoulder. "It's not too bad Skids. After all, Meriat's gonna be comin' with us, and I think it's better that we have someone to actually talk to than to try an' figure out what all this means through theories and guesswork. Now c'mon, let's get to work. I'll take off the lid, and you take out the coffin."

Very carefully, Jazz lifted the elaborately decorated lid of the sarcophagus, taking care not to crush it. In his turn, Skids reached into the sarcophagus, and lifted out a very fragile-looking wooden casket. In sharp contrast to the sarcophagus that contained it, the coffin was very plain, with no decoration whatsoever.

"It feels like it will just crumble in my hands," the theoretician muttered as he set it aside, well away from where they were working.

"Let me look at it," Naila said as she moved towards the coffin. "I may be able to determine how fragile it is so we can take appropriate measures when we transport it."

"We hear ya, li'l lady. And thanks." Jazz returned Naila's smile with one of his own, and then turned once more to the sarcophagus. This time, he had to move it aside, since according to Meriat, there was something underneath it. When he tried to push it, however, it wouldn't budge an inch.

Skids frowned. "It looks like the bottom of the sarcophagus was melded with the ground."

Jazz sighed. "We got no choice but to smash it then." He pulled his hand back, made a fist, and brought it down with all his might. As he had hoped, the rock shattered into large pieces, revealing a slightly smaller compartment underneath. When he reached into it, he felt something smooth and angular – and pulsing with energy. When he pulled it out, his optics widened at what he was holding in his hand. "Primus…"

It was a crystal: a large, light green crystal, very similar to the ones that they found in the statues' chests. This one was shaped a little like a many-faceted teardrop, and was only a little smaller than the sarcophagus. Where the metal of his hands made contact with it, his sensors picked up a steady stream of energy – somewhat faint, but still palpable.

"Hey, I found the- What the Pit is _that_?"

Jazz glanced up at Sideswipe, who had just come in then, carrying what appeared to be a stone box in one hand. He smiled slightly as he straightened. "That other thing Meriat wants us to bring, along with her chest and her body."

Sideswipe frowned. "Don't you two find carrying a dead body a bit freaky? And what'd she want with her old body anyway?"

"It makes perfect sense," Skids murmured then, his gaze trained on the wooden coffin that Naila was checking. "When you consider just who we're dealing with, there's nothing illogical about it."

Naila straightened, and turned to look up at Jazz. "She says that you should keep the coffin and the crystal close to one another. Transportation will be somewhat tricky, I told her, but she says that as long as the coffin and the crystal are close enough to each other, then it should be fine. She will warn me if they are too far apart."

"Right." Jazz turned to Skids. "Think you can handle transportin' the coffin?"

Skids nodded. "It's fairly well-preserved, so it can handle being jostled around a little bit."

"But I would like to stop by the camp," Naila added. "I believe that we have a wooden crate large enough to hold the coffin, and then we can cushion that with straw and foam. We can do the same for the crystal."

Jazz sighed, but nodded all the same. "We had to talk to your colleagues anyway, li'l lady. I guess this is as good a time as any to do it." He nodded at Skids. "Skids, would you be okay with transportin' the chest? I need ya to come with me anyway, to talk to Naila's friends. 'Swipe, stay here and bury this place nice and good. You'll need to stay here with the crystal and the coffin, since Meriat said that they can't be too far apart. We'll come back round for you when we're through."

Sideswipe grinned, and Jazz knew that he was looking forward to this chance to vent his frustration at what had turned out to be a long and very unusual day. "Hey, as long as none of those pillars come to life and start wailing on me, I'll be fine."

Jazz nodded, smiling in satisfaction. "Great! So then, let's get these outta here and start movin'. Got lots to do and not nearly enough time to do it."

* * *

The night hung thick over the desert when they finally left the camp, two of their hard-won (or so Skids believed, considering how much they had to argue with Naila's colleagues) prizes stored securely in the back of his alt-mode: a large wooden crate containing the coffin, and another one containing the crystal that Jazz had pulled up from underneath the sarcophagus. By necessity, they both had to be kept together, and hence he was the one tasked to transport them, while Jazz transported the stone chest that Meriat had asked them to bring for her.

After a moment of silence, he asked softly via his radio: -+-Naila, are you okay?-+-

The archaeologist, who had been seated behind his steering wheel, making a show of driving, sighed wearily. "Yes, I am all right. I am just tired." It showed in the way she spoke, and even on her face and posture too, as far as Skids could tell from his internal cameras.

Skids could understand why. After the events in the cave, she and Jazz had spent a great deal of time talking with the other archaeologists who had been working with Naila at the excavation site. The two of them had to spin a story about how an earthquake and the subsequent cave-in had caused the entrances of the cavern to collapse, thus rendering the whole interior of it inaccessible whether via the large back entrance or through the smaller one at the back of the temple that they had found. They also had to come up with a valid reason as to why they were taking away the three surviving artifacts, and why Naila had to go with the Autobots – all the while trying not to reveal too much about what had _really_ happened.

All of that, as it turned out, had been hard on Naila, who wanted nothing more than to share her discovery with her friends, but could not, due to Meriat's desire to keep it all a secret.

In the end, though, Naila exerted her authority over them all as the head of the project, and hence here they were, on the road back to Cairo International, heading towards the tarmac where Skyfire was waiting to transport all of them back to Oregon.

-+-Say, why don't you go ahead and take a nap?-+- Skids suggested, not really sure if that was what he was supposed to say during moments like this. All he knew was that he didn't like seeing Naila the way she was right now: deep in thought, her eyes strangely haunted, as if she could see or hear something that he couldn't.

Naila chuckled, and ran her fingers around the edge of his steering wheel in a reassuring caress. "Yes, that sounds like a very good idea. Thank you for the concern, Skids." Her eyes slowly slid shut, even as a few more words tumbled from her lips, but they were soft, garbled, and Skids did not understand them. A few minutes later a quick scan of her vital systems told him that she had fallen into a deep sleep.

Had he been in his primary mode, he would have smiled. It had been a long day for all of them, after all, and truth be told, he could not wait to get back to Base, have some energon, and climb into his berth for some nice, long recharge.

But that could wait. In the meantime, he followed Jazz and Sideswipe's tail lights as they drove down the dark road that led back to Cairo, the twinkling stars a field of glittering pinpricks overhead.


	6. 5: Incomplete Answers

**Chapter Five: Incomplete Answers**

A stream of words she did not understand flowed from the woman's mouth, words that were being uttered in a different language entirely. And though she liked to think that she had a pretty good grasp of other languages besides English (she was getting pretty good at Spanish and was working on her French), Carly still had to work her way towards understanding Arabic.

At the moment though, she was sort of glad that she couldn't understand what Dr. Naila Saab was saying in her sleep. Given how the archaeologist was tossing and turning, she had to be dreaming about something bad. A part of Carly was curious, but another part of her didn't really want to find out.

The door behind her hissed open and closed, and when she looked over her shoulder she saw Spike coming towards her. She smiled at her husband, who smiled back at her reassuringly. "Hey there."

"Hey there." Spike quietly pulled up another chair from another part of the room – one of the spare ones that the Autobots had allocated for human use in the Ark, whenever Chip or Raoul had or wanted to stay over for a while. The furnishing was a bit sparse, but it was comfortable, and within easy reach of the Command Center, Optimus Prime's office, and the med-bay. "How long has she been like that?"

"A while now." She reached over, catching Spike's hand in her own. "I'm worried."

Spike smiled, and turned his hand over so that his fingers fitted into the spaces between her own: a gesture of comfort, one of many that had evolved between the two of them over the course of their relationship. "Just let her sleep. She's obviously had a long day. When she wakes up, we'll get answers."

Carly nodded. _That_ much had been obvious to her when Skyfire arrived from Egypt late that afternoon after picking up Jazz, Sideswipe and Skids, with Dr. Saab and three very unusual items in tow. Two of those items – a crate containing a crystal of some sort, and another one containing a coffin – were put in a dark, secluded room, and upon Naila's request, everyone was put under strict orders _not_ to go in there while the two items were in storage. After that, the three 'Bots were brought into Optimus' office for a debriefing, while Carly took it upon herself to show Naila to a room, whereupon the poor woman – wearied out by something Carly had no idea of – was only able to murmur a quick "thank you" before she fell asleep.

"What do you think happened out there?" Carly murmured.

"They'll call us in as soon as Prowl and Optimus have debriefed them."

Naila uttered a soft moan, as if in pain, and Carly caught the tears that glittered amidst the woman's lashes in the dim light.

Spike's grip on her hand tightened just so, and he pulled Carly up from her chair. "Come on," he said, moving towards the door. "You need a break."

Carly opened her mouth to protest, but Spike gave her a look that made her close her mouth almost immediately. "She'll be fine without you for a while, honey. You, on the other hand, don't look too good. Have you even eaten anything since breakfast?"

She stared at him for a while, and then simply chuckled as she followed him out of the room and into their own, which was more like a complete apartment than just a room, since it had a kitchen, a living room of sorts, a bedroom, and a decent-sized bathroom. It used to be like the other guest rooms, until Sparkplug and Spike gradually moved some of their own things into it, when they started staying longer in the Ark for various reasons. In the end, it was decided that it would be turned into a more permanent living space, now that the Witwickys spent more time in the Ark than they did in their own house.

The memory of Sparkplug made Carly's heart hitch. He had died a few years ago, in the midst of an Autobot-Decepticon battle, and though the mourning period was over for all of them, she could not help but think back on him from time to time.

"Carly?"

She looked up at Spike, and shook her head to clear her thoughts. "Sorry, spaced out for a minute back there."

"All right, that's it: you're going to eat whether you like it or not." He nudged her towards the little dining table, pulling out a chair and making her sit down in it. "You just sit there and wait a while. I'll make you something to eat."

Carly laughed, but didn't argue, and watched as her husband moved around the kitchen with an efficiency that she had always admired. Spike was a whiz in the kitchen, and she loved watching him cook just as much as she loved eating what he made. It reminded her of that Isabel Allende novel she had been reading, about how the main character described watching her husband cooking as one of the most erotic things she had ever seen…

A small, silly smile crept onto her face, and she stood up, heading towards her husband just as he was starting to chop some tomatoes. Her smile widened when she felt him stiffen a little as she wrapped her arms around his waist, and nuzzled the space between his shoulder blades. "You know," she purred, gently massaging his abdomen, "we haven't been spending much time together _alone_ lately… And when you and I get home we're too tired to do anything except shower and go to bed…"

Spike did not say anything or even move for a few seconds, but gradually, he relaxed, and he set aside the knife and wiped his hands on a towel before he turned around, eyes dark and mouth curling in an expression that Carly was very familiar with, and missed terribly. "You really should eat first…"

Naughty thoughts chased each other like cats in Carly's head, and she moved closer, pressing her husband against the kitchen counter. "Oh, I'll _definitely_ be having dinner…" She tilted her head upwards, and it did not take long for Spike to take the hint, because a few seconds later he was kissing her.

Unfortunately, Carly was too busy with kissing Spike, and he with reciprocating, that neither of them heard the door of their rooms hiss open, followed by a very familiar voice hastily babbling an apology.

"Oops! Sorry! Sorry!"

Carly groaned, and dropped her head so that her forehead was pressed against Spike's chest. The door hissed closed again, and she could vaguely hear the sound of Cybertronian footsteps hurrying away. "'Bee has the _worst_ timing…"

Spike chuckled, and kissed the top of her head. "I'll remind him about knocking." He glanced at the door, and then at the tomatoes. "Do you go after him, or do I?"

"I'll go." She grinned up at him, and kissed him on the cheek. "You finish up whatever it was you were planning to make."

Spike nodded, and kissed her once on the mouth before letting her go. She gave him a teasing wink, before she headed towards the door, and out into the hall. "Hey 'Bee!"

Bumblebee stopped in mid-step, and turned around to face her, smiling sheepishly. "Sorry for barging in like that, Carly," he muttered. "Didn't mean to interrupt anything."

Carly smiled, and patted his arm. "It's okay. Just don't forget to knock, okay?" She tilted her head. "So: what's up?"

Bumblebee nodded towards Optimus' office. "Jazz and the others just finished giving their report." He shook his head in amazement. "Who'd've ever thought that there was a whole other side to our history…"

Carly blinked. "A whole other side to your history? So those statues really _were_ Cybertronians?"

"Um…yes and no. It's a bit hard to explain. Even Skids, who knows the most about this, admits that there are a lot of gaps in his information."

Just then, a nearby door slid open, and when Carly looked, she saw Naila stepping out. She had been awake for a while, apparently: she had changed into a pair of pants and a long-sleeved sweater, but the scarf she wore over her hair was still the same one she had worn when she arrived.

The Egyptian woman gave Carly a rather confused look. "Are you…Mrs. Witwicky?"

Carly nodded, and smiled as she approached. "Just Carly, please, Dr. Saab." She frowned, noticing then the grogginess that lingered still on the woman's face. "Are you all right?"

She nodded slowly in response. "Yes, I am. It is just the jetlag, I think." She looked around then, and when her gaze fell on Bumblebee, her eyes widened briefly, before she relaxed, and a small smile appeared on her face. "I believe we have not been introduced."

The yellow Volkswagen Bug grinned, and approached. "I'm Bumblebee. I heard about you from Jazz and the others, Dr. Saab."

"Naila will do, thank you." She straightened a little bit, and looked around. "If it is not too much trouble, I would like to speak to those who came with me. There is something that I must tell them."

Bumblebee nodded. "Sure, Doctor- I mean, Naila." He glanced at Carly, as if asking for permission, to which Carly responded with a wave.

"I'll go and get Spike," she said. "I'm sure he'll want to hear about this." She looked at Naila, and smiled. "Bumblebee will take you to where they are."

Bumblebee nodded, and smiled at Carly before turning his attention to Naila, making small talk with her as he led her towards Optimus' office. Carly waited until they had rounded the corner and disappeared from her sight, before she turned around, and headed back to where Spike was, intent on getting to the Autobot Commander's office in time to find out just what, exactly, was going on.

* * *

"Are you sure you're okay, Naila?"

The human woman glanced at him, and smiled. "Yes, I am. Thank you, though, for your concern. You have been most kind."

Bumblebee nodded, though a small part of him thought that Naila might be lying about being okay. Years spent in close contact with humans had given him a great deal of insight into how they conveyed their feelings – as well as the measures they took to disguise them, if necessary. And at that moment, he knew that something was bothering Naila. She had a distant look in her eye, as if whenever she looked at him she didn't see _him_ but the wall behind him, and the skin around her mouth was a bit tight at the corners. She tried to hide it by smiling and talking to him, but it was easy for him to see past that.

They reached the Autobot Commander's office just in time for Bumblebee to catch the tail end of Optimus Prime's statement: "-else you know?"

Apparently, it was a question directed at Skids, who answered: "I can't give any more information than I already have, sir. Naila might be able to, but-"

"Excuse me," Bumblebee cut in then, and watched as several pairs of optics turned in his direction. He smiled back at them, and gestured to his side. "Naila's awake."

Skids was the first one to get up from his seat, and walk over to Naila, kneeling down so that she didn't have to crane her neck too high. "Naila! Did you sleep well?"

Naila's smile was a bit weak. "After a fashion… But that is not important right now." She glanced up at the table, and frowned slightly. "I do not suppose there is some way you could get me up there…"

Bumblebee grinned when Skids chuckled, and held out a hand to Naila, who slowly stepped into it, and allowed herself to be carefully lifted up onto the table – and he saw how her eyes widened when she saw that she was surrounded by all the Autobot officers.

"Oh…" she murmured quietly as she looked around. Bumblebee saw that she had tensed up quite a bit, but when she saw Jazz, Skids and Sideswipe, she relaxed, and smiled at them both before moving towards them.

As soon as she was settled down – more or less – Optimus Prime spoke. "It is a pleasure to meet you in person, Dr. Saab."

Naila smiled, and nodded her head. "It is an honor, Optimus Prime." She smiled shyly, and the expression seemed to make her look younger. "I hope I am not interrupting anything…"

Optimus shook his head. "It's all right, Dr. Saab." He glanced around the table. "Before we go on, I would like to introduce my officers: Prowl is my second-in-command, while Ironhide is responsible for Security. Ratchet is Chief Medical Officer, and Jazz, whom you have already met, is head of Special Operations. Bumblebee, on the other hand, is one of our espionage specialists. Sideswipe is one of our warriors, and Skids is our theoretician."

Naila nodded at each of the mechs as they were introduced and smiled at those she knew, acknowledging them and their presence at this meeting. As soon as that was over, she focused once more on Optimus Prime. "If I might ask, what do you know so far?"

The door opened then, and when Bumblebee turned to look, he saw Spike and Carly come in. He grinned at them both, and helped them up to the table just as Skids replied: "Mostly what I know – or what I learned when we were still at Cybertron, rather."

With that, he launched into a brief explanation of the Quintessons' occupation of Cybertron and the subsequent rebellion that finally pushed them out of Cybertron for good. "What we didn't know until later," he continued, "was that the Quintessons were using Cybertron as a large manufacturing plant of war- and civilian-type machines – both of which were intended to be used to help in the conquest and colonization of other planets, regardless of whether or not they were inhabited.

"Long ago, I came across a set of very old memoirs, dating back to a few vorns – Cybertronian years – after the Quintessons were pushed out of Cybertron. They were written by a few Cybertronians who had come back from a distant planet called Maraxa, where they, too, had managed to help the resident sentient life-forms called Maraxans in throwing off Quintesson rule. The memoirs were not at all as descriptive as I might have liked, but they _did_ talk about how the Maraxans had developed extremely powerful psionic abilities. It was because of those abilities that the Quintessons didn't wipe them out right away, and instead used them as slave labor alongside the Cybertronians. But both races eventually rebelled, and managed to send the Quintessons from their planet at more or less the same time that Cybertron was trying to do the same. The timing was excellent, to say the least.

"After that, the memoirs document how the Maraxans, in gratitude for the help that the Cybertronians provided, built ships for them, powered by a strange crystal energy source that was strong enough to see them back all the way to Cybertron."

"But that would mean it had to be a very strong power source," Spike put in then, eyes wide in amazement at the story that Skids had just told.

"It would have had to be," Skids replied, "since the distance between Maraxa – the planet – and Cybertron was very, very large."

"But what about _them_?" Carly asked. "What happened to the Maraxans?"

Sideswipe snorted. "I don't think she even _remembers_ anymore. She attacked us without a second thought."

Bumblebee tilted his head in curiosity. "She?"

It was Naila who answered, and to him, her voice sounded tired. "Meriat la Telescos mat Tir. She…took possession of my body and, through me, attacked Skids, Jazz and Sideswipe."

Jazz nodded, and grinned at Skids. "If it hadn't been for Skids' quick thinkin' and talkin', I dunno _what_ she could've done."

"Wait a nano-klik," Prowl cut in then. "What do you mean by 'she took possession of your body,' Dr. Saab?"

"Her…I do not know what to call it… Her consciousness invaded mine, and she took control of my body, pushing 'me' aside so that 'she' could take over." Naila shuddered a little then. "She could not attack anyone unless she had a body, and hence she took over mine."

Ratchet frowned. "But why take over yours when she could just as easily have done the same to any of the three of them – _and_ to better effect, too?"

"Again, I do not know. All I understand is that she has chosen me to act as a mediator on her behalf." She straightened up slightly. "That is why she requested that I be brought here. She has asked me to act as a go-between of sorts between herself and all of you. Until she manages to recover from her…current state, she trusts me to act in the capacity of diplomat, as it were."

"And just what _is_ her current state?" Ironhide asked.

Naila suddenly looked distinctly uncomfortable. She shifted a little, and then answered: "One of the crates that we brought back with us contains a coffin. And in that coffin is Meriat's body."

Bumblebee heard both Spike and Carly inhale sharply at that, but it was Spike who reacted: "So you're saying that Meriat is _dead_?"

* * *

The look of horror on both Spike and Carly's face after the former had voiced out his realization was troubling – and none knew this better than Ratchet, who understood that amongst humans, death was very final, and that if someone were to "come back"… Well, he was more than aware that that sort of thing was the stuff that human horror movies, both good and bad, were made of. He'd seen more than his own fair share of them, after all.

As a doctor, he was more than familiar with the death, especially those of a violent sort. Death was as final amongst Cybertronians as it was amongst humans. Once it happened, that was that, no turning back. While those like him might be able to stop it from happening, even in very dire situations, there were times when there was nothing one could do.

And since he was intimately familiar with the finality of death, the idea of someone coming back from it was a thought that troubled him quite a bit. He was not necessarily afraid of it in the same way that humans were, but the prospect of an old enemy, or even an old friend, coming back was not something that he wanted to happen. When someone was dead, they were dead. That was that.

But it seemed that there were those out there who could actually defy that.

Naila shook her head. "No, not quite dead."

All right, maybe not after all.

"What do you mean, she's not dead?" Ratchet asked then, and the archaeologist turned to look at him. "Aren't coffins supposed to be containers for a dead body?"

"Yes, that is true, but she is not dead," Naila replied. "Her spirit is still very much alive: it was what took possession of me in the first place. You could say that she is lying in a state of suspended animation. She will need some time to revitalize her body, before she may take occupancy in it again."

Optimus Prime frowned. "So you mean to say that her spirit exists outside of her physical body?"

"Like a ghost?" Sideswipe asked, almost eagerly.

"Yes and no. Do you remember the crystal we brought back with us? She needs that in order to keep her spirit…anchored here." Naila shook her head rapidly. "I do not know if these are even the right words to describe what she is doing. Suffice to say that, as long as the crystal we brought back is kept near her body, she will be able to survive in that state for a very long time – for nearly six thousand years, so it appears. I do not have a complete idea just yet, but I presume that she needs the crystal to keep her spirit alive. What happens to her body is something that she can fix, though how she plans to accomplish that, I do not know."

This statement was followed by contemplative silence as everyone processed the information that Naila had just offered them. Ratchet glanced at everyone around the table, and knew that Skids and Naila's fragmentary answers had only spawned more questions…but they would have to wait. The only one who could answer any of them was, after all, in no position to answer any of them at length.

At last, Optimus looked up at them all. "I suppose that's all we can figure out for now," he murmured. "We will just have to wait until Meriat can speak to us directly." He looked at Naila, and his optics glowed kindly at her. "You're free to stay with us until then, Naila."

The smile that the woman directed at Optimus was warm. "I am deeply grateful for your hospitality, Optimus Prime."

Carly came up to her then, smiling. "You can stay in one of the guestrooms, or if you want, you can stay with us."

While the humans talked softly amongst themselves, Optimus turned his attention to his officers. "I do not think I have to remind you of this, but try to make sure that no word of this leaks out to the Decepticons."

A wry smirk appeared on Jazz's face. "'Specially about that energy source, right?"

If Optimus didn't have his mouth-plate on, Ratchet was sure that he would be smiling, though it would not be pleasant at all. "Yes, especially about that energy source. We don't need the Decepticons looking around where they aren't wanted. Also, if there is anything that Naila needs, be sure to help her in any way you can."

The others responded with murmurs of assent, and with business thus concluded, they began to scatter, going their own separate ways.

As he headed towards the med-bay, Ratchet found himself thinking about what Naila and Skids had said about the Maraxans: how they could not control inorganic beings, as well as how they could put themselves in suspended animation. The former, in particular, was something that intrigued him. Why _could_ they not at least communicate with Cybertronians, despite the fact that they, too, were sentient beings? Had not the Sub-Atlanticans been able to communicate with the Decepticons just fine? What was the difference between them and the Maraxans, if the latter's talents were the same, if not greater, than those of the Sub-Atlanticans?

But those were questions that had to be answered at another time, though Ratchet somewhat hoped that the answers would come fairly soon.

He might not have always been the most patient mech, but h e knew when he had to wait – and wait he would.


	7. 6: Weariness and Readiness

**Chapter Six: Weariness and Readiness**

Skids gazed at Naila, fascinated by what she had just told him. "Incredible," he murmured. "So you're saying she doesn't need anything resembling a transfusion?"

Naila shook her head. "No, she does not. All she requires is that I bring her the food that she needs, and that will be enough."

They were talking about the "rehabilitation process," as Ratchet had called it, of the body in the coffin that Jazz and his team had brought back with them from Egypt. Almost everyone had assumed that it would require some sort of esoteric medical procedure, but as it turned out, no such thing was needed. All that needed to be done was for someone to bring a plate of organic foodstuffs (usually a hefty mix of vegetables, fruits, bread, and meat and fish), along with a container of water. Initially the requested amounts of food and water were incredible, and the meat had to be raw, but lately, the amount had gone down, and the meat or fish that was being brought was often lightly grilled, with only a sprinkling of salt and pepper.

Skids mumbled in understanding, and then gave Naila a very concerned look. "I know it isn't my place to ask but…are you alright? You don't…look too good."

That much was the truth. Over the last few weeks, Skids noticed that there was something seriously wrong with the human woman. At first he chalked it up to just being tired after what had happened in Egypt, and to the trip to the Ark (Spike had called it "jet lag"), but Skids was pretty sure that it did not take a human being nearly _a month _to recover from that. When he saw the shadows that ringed Naila's eyes, and the decidedly unhealthy complexion of her skin, neither of which disappeared over the course of time that she had been at the Ark, he became convinced that, whatever was bothering Naila, it was becoming very detrimental to her health.

He leaned in closer. "You humans call your recharge sequence 'sleep,' right? Are you sure you're getting enough sleep, Naila?"

She looked up at him, and had she been in good health, Skids was sure she would have looked startled. As things stood, though, she simply looked weary. At length, she sighed, and closed her eyes. "So it has been that obvious, then?"

Skids nodded, and smiled comfortingly, showing that he was ready to listen. "What's been keeping you up?"

Naila was silent for a while, too intent on staring at the wide swath of desert that stretched out in front of where they were seated. It was their habit, as of late, to sit together on a high bluff to watch the sunset, only returning to the Ark when Naila was finished with her daily prayers, done while facing towards Mecca.

When she spoke, her voice was a low murmur, and Skids found himself having to adjust his audios in order to hear her better: "Do you remember when Meriat possessed me in the cave?"

Skids nodded slowly. Something in his processors told him that this was not going to be good. "I remember."

"Her possession of my body was not without its effects. The physical ones are easy to overcome: exhaustion and weariness, after all, are easily cured by good food and enough sleep. However…" She paused, and seemed to swallow before she looked up at Skids, her eyes dark and haunted. "When she released me, I later found out that there were…some things that she left behind in my own consciousness, and whenever I sleep, they come back as dreams – no." She shook her head. "They are nightmares."

Skids continued to stare at her, unnerved by what he saw swirling in Naila's eyes. "What are they about?" he asked softly.

It took Naila longer this time to respond, but when she did her voice was choked up with fear: "Children. Many children. Dying."

* * *

She listened to that conversation with guilt in her heart. She knew that leaving trace memories behind was unavoidable when one took possession of another being's body, but she had not intended for her more…violent memories to be left behind.

But at the same time, what was there to be so surprised about? The memories that were left behind in such circumstances were always the ones that carried the most weight, the most impact – and in her case, those memories were the saddest and most violent.

She would have to make amends somehow. If the human would allow, she would carefully eliminate the traces of those memories from her mind. They were not hers, after all, and she was worried that to leave them there would bring on an irreversible madness. She had seen that happen, too, long ago.

It took nothing more than a thought to bring her back to where she currently was: in her now-open coffin, staring into the darkness as her body healed itself of the ravages of time. The process had been slow, but now she was capable of actually eating the food that was left for her without having to resort to the means she had had to use prior to being able to move in her body again.

By the Moons, though, it _hurt_.

Knowing that she was well enough to start walking about, she forced herself to ignore the pain and concentrated on moving limbs that had not seen use for…she was not sure for how long. She would have to find out precisely how long ago it had been since she was last awake. And then she would have to find her brother, and her liege-lady…

But that could wait. At that moment, she was more concerned with seeing if she could actually _stand_, let alone walk.

Slowly, she pushed herself up into a sitting position, groaning softly at the pain. It would have been all too easy for her to simply levitate herself into a standing position, but she knew that would only defeat the point of getting onto her own two feet by herself. With much straining of unused muscles and bones, she managed to position herself, first in a kneeling position, and then slowly, painfully, she forced herself to stand.

The pain was that ripped through her was ferocious, but she did not dare prevent herself from feeling it, as she normally would have. The pain indicated that she was alive and awake, and that she was not merely walking in some strange dream. It also told her what was wrong, and where, so that she would be able to find a way to treat it later on.

She had been taught that the first step upon waking from the _Youma Orsomo_ was always the most painful, and her teacher's words were proven all too true the moment she stepped out of the coffin to put her foot on the floor. The movement in and of itself was painful, but the pressure, despite being as light as she could make it without losing her balance, was excruciating. She uttered a cry, unable to keep herself from doing so, but the pain left her quickly enough to leave only a dull ache behind that she could bear without screaming.

The next step that she took was less painful than the first, and the next steps she took she could do without her entire body protesting. She was still sore in a great many places, but she knew that such was normal, and that the more she moved around, the faster the pain would decrease.

In the darkness, her hands reached out to touch the cool surface of the _karyt aksha_ that had kept her alive all this time, from which she drew energy so that her soul did not simply slip away into death. She drew energy from the crystal slowly, sipping of its power, taking only enough to soothe and strengthen her. She had been very careful with the amount that she took from it over the years that she had been deep in the _Youma Orsomo, _preferring to wander in a half-dream than actively observe the world while her body lay inactive.

At length, she felt strong enough to leave this dark chamber, this cocoon where she had completed the careful regeneration of her physical body, and slowly, slowly, headed towards the door, indicated by the seam of light that outlined its frame.

She was ready.

She pressed a small button close to the side of the door, causing the metal panel to slide open. The light from beyond hit her eyes in full force, and she winced at the brightness of it. Her secondary irises pin-wheeled closed on instinct, and the world was shaded in blue. As soon as her eyes recovered, she carefully opened her secondary irises, and gazed upon what appeared to be an immense hallway made of orange-colored metal. She had to stop herself from closing her secondary irises again: the sharpness and brightness of the color made her dizzy.

Yet again, she told herself that this was nothing more than a direct result of having been in the _Youma Orsomo_ for so long. She knew her eyes would adjust again after a while, and that the only way she was ever going to do that was if she viewed the world as she normally would. Nevertheless, she allowed herself to keep her secondary irises slightly closed, if only to ease the transition from time spent in half-dream and darkness to reality and light.

She focused her mental energies again, seeking out the human woman whom she had come to trust in this whole debacle. It did not take her long: the moment their minds touched and brushed, she sent her a telepathic message – or rather, an impression of where she was and how she was feeling.

Naila's response did not consist of words so much as a swirl of images and emotions: a high mountain cliff overlooking a vast expanse of desert and a cavern entrance, accompanied by worry, concern…and fear: fear of what she would see, fear of what sort of entity she would be facing. But there was reassurance there, and the promise of haste. That was more than enough for her to know that she was on her way.

She withdrew the link then, taking care in doing so, since she was more than familiar with the effects of a sudden telepathic withdrawal, particularly on humans. She had barely done so when she felt her entire body vibrating to the rhythmic earthquakes that shook the hallway. Leaning against the wall for support, she watched as a tall black-and-white figure with strange wings and a red crest on its head emerged from the other end of the hallway.

The old fear suddenly clogged her throat, and her fingers tried to curl into the smooth metal of the wall behind her, seeking purchase where none could be found. The _Damir Koiraya_ had happened so long ago, but the memories of that time were passed down from parent to child in a nearly unbroken chain, so that future generations would never forget the horror of that fateful day in their history, when thousands of innocents were slaughtered like livestock by hordes of the _Maishunin_.

But she forced herself to put those memories aside, to swallow her fear, to conquer it. She had been told – promised – that she could trust these entities, that though they were armed, they were, in truth, very much like the ones that were spoken of in the histories and legends of her people: those who had been more than happy to help them, even giving up their lives, if necessary – those who, though bearing weapons, might be considered amongst the _Risionag_.

She had no choice but to rely on that promise, and hope that she had not been lied to. She raised her voice, and spoke: _"Teske…"_

The giant stopped, almost in mid-step, and the great head turned to face her, brilliant blue eyes that seemed to glow with an inner light gazed down at her. She straightened slightly, and felt relief when the giant knelt down on one knee, as if in consideration to her height.

She raised her hand, and reached out to him. _"Teske tu koa…"_

The giant frowned, and she was amazed at how expressive their faces could be, for something that was made of metal. She watched as his mouth opened, as if to speak, but whatever he had been about to say was cut short by a sharp, high-pitched squeal that echoed from the opposite end of the corridor they were standing in.

As it turned out, the source of the sound was a blue and red vehicle of some sort. One of the doors opened, and the human woman stepped out hurriedly, even as the vehicle she had been in shifted and changed into another metallic giant – the one who said that they had not forgotten what had happened in Maraxa. She wanted to speak to him, but she could not, because the human woman was already by her side, holding her up.

The human woman spoke, but she did not understand what was being said. When she had taken possession of her, she had merely borrowed her knowledge of the language she had been using to speak to the giants; she herself had no knowledge of the language that was being spoken.

That would have to change.

She opened the telepathic link once more, and the moment she did so the human woman went silent, stiffening slightly before she relaxed. As soon as she did so, she closed her eyes to help herself focus, and delved into the human woman's mind, seeking the knowledge she would need, and at the same time, carefully eliminating the trace memories that had been left behind the last time. It was the least she could do to make amends for all the trouble that she had caused.

The assimilation of that knowledge did not take her very long, either, and not a moment later she opened her eyes, secondary irises swirling open as she did so, and she gazed at the stunned, wide-eyed face of she who called herself Naila Saab. "Meriat…?"

Meriat la Telescos mat Tir smiled, and spoke in the tongue that was foreign even to Naila herself, but which she herself had chosen to use because it appeared that everyone else around them spoke that language. "Forgive me, Naila. It was not my intention to cause you pain."

Naila stared. "How did you-"

"It is a little difficult to explain," Meriat responded, gently cutting her off with a shake of the head. "My mind is still…a little slow."

"Excuse us…"

Meriat turned to the source of the voice, and realized that it came from the blue-and-red giant – whom she recognized, now that she could see his face. She smiled up at him, and bowed slightly in greeting. "Our introductions did not go quite so well the last time, I believe." She straightened, and looked at him. "Skids… That is your name?"

Skids nodded. "Yes, yes, that's me!" He gestured to the black and white giant beside him. "And this is Prowl."

"Prowl…" Meriat said the name slowly, to accustom herself to its pronunciation, and then turned to face the one so named. Her secondary irises whirled shut again, and she saw the brilliant nest of sparkling energy that was encased in his chest: the sure sign of a living entity. She opened her irises again, and nodded. "It is an honor to meet you."

The giant named Prowl seemed momentarily confused, but nodded nevertheless. "The pleasure is all mine."

Just then, Naila gasped, and suddenly grabbed Meriat by the arm. Meriat frowned, and opened her mouth to ask what was happening, but Naila turned to her, and said: "You do not have any clothes on."

Meriat glanced down at herself, and realized that, aside from her very, very long hair, there was nothing else covering her body. It was also only then that she realized how much colder it was here, that the air had none of the dry heat of Egypt. When she was in the _Youma Orsomo,_ she certainly could not tell such a thing, but now that she was back in her own body, she realized that the air was rather chilly.

The room they entered was dark, but a flick of a switch flooded it with light. It was a bedroom, furnished more for comfort than fashion, and obviously lived-in for a while now.

She turned to watch as Naila headed to a chest of drawers, and started pulling out folded items of clothing and laying them out on the bed. "You may have these," she said softly, her eyes carefully averted from Meriat. "I am sure that Spike and Carly will be able to get more for you later, and in a proper fit. Mine might be a little large on you."

Meriat nodded her head, and noticed that Naila's surface thought-patterns were leaning towards embarrassment. "Why are you so embarrassed, Naila?"

Naila froze, and then slowly looked up at her, and a wry smile teased her lips, before focusing on the clothes again. "You have been…asleep for nearly six thousand years, My Lady-"

"No titles, please. Meriat is more than enough."

"… Meriat, then. Much has changed since that time – more than you may have expected, I suppose." Naila straightened, and approached Meriat, her eyes serious and solemn, and Meriat was glad to see that there was no longer any trace of fear in them, nor was there a single ripple of such in her emotions.

In response to her statement, however, Meriat smiled, and shrugged slightly, her hair sliding off her shoulder with the gesture. "Worry not: I will learn."

That much she knew she would have to do. If it was indeed as Naila said, then she had been asleep for a very, very long time, even by the standards of her people. That she had remained safe and undisturbed, despite that immense span of time, and given the particular circumstances of her race, was impressive.

There was much, she realized then, that needed to be done, much that needed to be learnt – as well as new plans that had to be made. The presence of the metal giants – entities whom she knew existed but had never seen, save in the memories that had been handed down in her family through hundreds of generations – changed a great many things. What role they would, or would not, play in those changes depended entirely on who could reach whom first.

And Meriat was determined to make sure that these metal giants, whether they were really _Risionag _or, by some unfortunate turn of events, turned out to be _Maishunin,_ would not be made known to the enemy.

* * *

TRANSLATION NOTES:

"**Youma Orsomo"** – Sleep of Ages

"**karyt aksha"** – soul crystal

"**teske"** – help

"**Teske tu koa…"** – Please help me…

"**Damir Koiraya"** – Blood Eclipse

"**Risionag"** – Giant from the Stars

"**Maishunin"** – Harbinger of Doom


	8. 7: Of Promises

**Chapter Seven: Of Promises**

"And are you certain of what you offer me?"

"Of course: amongst my people, when we speak vocally, it is equivalent to making a promise – an unbreakable one. If I say to you that I can give you what I have to offer, then I am certain that I am able to do so."

"You have been on Earth long enough. How can I be certain that you're not lying?"

"You cannot. It is up to you to decide whether or not you consider the risks you take in trusting me worth the rewards that it could bring. And besides, it was not humans who taught us how to lie: it was your kind that did."

"Interesting… And what is it that _you _get out of all of this?"

"Your help in acquiring certain items that are of supreme importance to my people, as well as aid in…_eliminating_ undesirable elements from our plans. If our…relationship continues to hold, then perhaps we can discuss the other fringe benefits."

"You make a very intriguing offer – and one well-suited to my goals. Very well, I agree to your terms."

"You have made an excellent decision, Megatron. In fact, it has already begun, even as we speak…"

* * *

-+-She's awake!-+- 

The joyous, gleeful message made Optimus Prime look up from the data slate he had been perusing. Recognizing the voice as Skids', and one made over the common Autobot comm. frequency, he realized that the theoretician must be referring to Meriat.

"Thank Primus," he muttered to himself. He tuned into Skids' personal frequency, and said: -+-Excellent news, Skids. Where is she?-+-

-+-She's with Naila right now.-+-

-+-Sir.-+- That was Prowl, from his private frequency to his. -+-Should I call the others for a meeting?-+-

Optimus thought for a moment, and then answered: -+-No, I don't think that is a very good idea right now. It's too soon. Let's give her some time to adjust, and then we can start asking questions.-+-

-+-Yes sir.-+-

The brief hiss of static indicated that both Skids and Prowl had both gone off the frequencies they were using, leaving him alone to his thoughts. He shuttered his optics, and leaned his head back, seeking comfort in the temporary darkness. How long had it been since they had first crash-landed on Earth? Twenty years, a little more than that, perhaps? By Cybertronian standards, that was nothing compared to the hundreds of vorns they had spent waging the Civil War on Cybertron, but somehow, it seemed almost as long. There seemed to be no end in sight to this vicious cycle that had begun so long ago…

And yet here they were, on the cusp of a discovery that had its roots in the deepest depths of their history, a time well beyond the beginning of the Golden Age. Would it provide a solution to the war? Or would it only raise more problems?

It could go either way. That much Optimus was certain of. It depended entirely on what they did with whatever information they received – as well as whether or not the Decepticons got their hands on it.

Whatever else the case may be, he was determined that the latter would _not_ happen.

He nearly jumped out of his seat when the alarms started blaring all around him, but he recovered quickly, and was on his feet, striding towards the Command Center even as he heard the thunder of many Autobot feet heading to their pre-assigned positions.

The doors to the Command Center hissed open, and he was greeted by the usual noise and hubbub that went with such situations. "What's going on?" he asked as he stepped closer to Teletraan-One's main screen, which showed the Ark's floor plan, and a flashing red dot indicating the intruder – a dot that was moving _very_ fast.

"Do we have a visual?" he asked Red Alert.

"Bringing them up right now, sir," the Security Director answered, and in a few seconds the secondary screens around the main screen flickered to life, showing visual feeds from various strategically-placed security cameras. What those cameras showed was the last thing that they expected to see.

Moving at speeds that approached thirty miles per hour was expected of a Decepticon – in fact, it wouldn't have surprised Optimus if the screens showed Ravage loping through the hallways, on some mission or other whose purpose they did not know of just yet. But what the screens showed was not Ravage, nor even Laserbeak or Buzzsaw.

Blaster gaped. "Um, guys… Is it just me, or was that a _human_? 'Cause if it was, I think I'm gonna need to stop by the Med-Bay to get my optic sensors checked."

"Check that again," Prowl ordered, stepping closer to Red Alert. "It cannot have been human. The speed it was going at was completely illogical."

Red Alert did not reply, merely did as he was told. He pulled up a few still frames of the intruder, and brought them up on the main screen. They showed a human woman, dark-skinned and her head shaved clean, a manic smile on her face as she moved through the hallways with a speed that was utterly impossible for a human to achieve.

"Impossible," Red Alert breathed, optics wide. "But… But no human can go at speeds like that without _some_ sort of assistance-"

"That is because she is not human."

Optimus turned, and watched as Bumblebee and Skids entered the Command Center: the former with Spike and Carly, and the latter with Naila on his shoulder – and another woman hovering at shoulder-level beside him.

"That is no human," the levitating woman repeated, even as she came closer, and Optimus noticed that her eyes – the irises, he remembered them being called – were fringed with blue in a strange, swirl pattern the likes of which he had never seen before. Those strange eyes glanced at him before turning to the screen. "I would know, because she is one of my kind."

It took no more than a nano-klik for Optimus to realize just who this woman was, and he nodded. "You are Meriat, then?"

A small smile appeared on the woman's face as she turned her head to him, and nodded. "Yes. And you are Optimus Prime, are you not? You command this group of _Risionag_."

Optimus tilted his head at the unusual word. "Pardon?"

She shook her head. "It is what we call you… Well, in our legends and our history, that is the name that we have given to some of you. It is less…insulting than the word that has come into more current use." She looked at the screen again, and frowned. _"Elo eteha kiros sarachi."_ She looked away. "There is no end to the cycle of vengeance."

Optimus was struck by those words. He had long since come to accept and understand that humans and Cybertronians were similar in many ways, but to hear those words come from someone who was, though human in appearance, obviously of another alien race entirely, seemed to reinforce what she had just said.

"Do you know who she is, then?" Optimus asked.

She nodded her head slowly, sadly. "Yes. Once, long ago, we were like sisters, despite the differences in our ideals and ideas. We vowed that we would never let those differences interfere with our bond. But it is different now." Her head lifted, and her expression was grim as she drifted to the floor, and headed towards the door. "I shall go out and meet her. It is I she seeks, after all."

"Hold on," Jazz cut in then. "You're sayin' you're gonna go out there and talk to her? I dunno 'bout you, but I don't like the look in the lady's eyes, if y'know what I mean."

"Yes, I know. She is angry, and has always been so since I fled Maraxa. That anger has been carefully forged all these long years, and turned into a honed blade by those whom she joined. That blade has thirsted for my blood ever since. All old vows are forgotten, replaced by oaths of vengeance." Even as she spoke, she had stepped through the door, which was starting to close behind her. "That will end now."

The Command Center remained silent even when the door had finally closed. At length, Skids said: "She's going to _fight_?" He started moving towards the door. "She can't do that alone!"

But Optimus reached out, and held Skids by the shoulder. "I think we should let her be," he murmured. "This is her fight. I doubt we have a right to interfere."

"But she's just come back! And she's weak, and-"

"It is better not to interfere." That was Naila, and the theoretician and the Autobot Commander both looked at her. Her eyes were closed, but they opened slowly, and she looked a little dazed. "She says that it would be best for you to stay here, well out of the way of any…unfortunate incidents."

Sunstreaker snorted. "She's just another squishie. How 'unfortunate' can anything get with a squishie?"

Sideswipe laughed, but it was full of hard-learned experience. "Trust me brother: with _this_ squishie, 'unfortunate' can easily equate to 'completely slagged out of your processors'."

* * *

It was inevitable. _This_ was inevitable. She should have foreseen it, of course, given how great a grudge was borne against her. But she had also hoped, deep in her heart, that this time would never come, that something would come up and she would be able to avoid this confrontation. Although she knew that whatever promises they had made to each other had long since been broken, she wanted to believe otherwise. She wanted to believe that, somehow, those promises, made as they were in the purity of childhood, would hold. 

As with many things in life, however, she could not have what she wanted, and now she had no choice but to face the truth.

'_So this is where you disappeared to.'_

She passed through one last door to enter a large hallway. At the other end was her adversary – and, once upon a time, her dearest childhood friend.

"_Saveki_, Elia ta Yuner mat Tir." She bowed in the traditional fashion, greeting Elia in vocal speech, as was also traditional.

Elia nodded back, but did not bow. "_Vae tu_, Meriat la Telescos mat Tir." A smile twisted her lips. _'I have waited so very, very long for this encounter.'_

Meriat bowed her head before looking up again. _'Why this anger, Elia? One would think that we were never friends. Do you not remember how it was: you, I, and my brother, playing games and laughing together in the streets and parks of Magdel, City Ever-Fair? Do you not remember the promises we made then?'_

'_I remember. Of course, how could I ever forget those times? But you betrayed me, Meriat. You betrayed the trust that we had the day you chose to go with the Kaimet and flee Maraxa!'_

'_You and I promised that what we believed in would not interfere with our friendship. I have remained faithful to that promise. Have you?'_

Elia stopped moving then, and Meriat felt hope surge in her heart. Perhaps there was a way yet out of this. Perhaps she would still be able to convince-

A powerful gust of wind slammed into her before she could so much as complete the thought. Meriat tried to gasp, but found herself unable to so much as breathe: Elia had put her in the middle of a vortex, the wind swirling so quickly that it sucked out all the air around her, effectively suffocating her.

'_Not so clever without your Saibers to protect you now, are you, Meriat?' _From somewhere beyond the whirlwind, Elia was taunting her, scorn lethal venom laced through the words. _'Look at you: one of the greatest Puppet Masters Clan Telescos and House Tir have ever known, a commanding officer of one of the deadliest Kaimet Saiber units, and yet unable to break free from a Wind Walker's little whirlwind! Pitiful.'_ The whirlwind spun faster, and Meriat felt her lungs constricting, crushed under the pressure of the vacuum Elia was creating.

But pride was a deadly weapon, for it could so easily be turned against its bearer. And in this instance, Meriat used it. _'You have forgotten, Elia: I have chosen to be a Puppet Master, but my brother was a Shaper.' _She paused to open her eyes, secondary irises screening her primary ones, and saw the pulsing light that was Elia's soul. _'So am I.'_

She thanked the Moons that the room they were in was made of metal. For a Shaper, metal is easier to manipulate than ordinary stone. It was one of the reasons why she had chosen to become a Puppet Master; without the help of a _karyt aksha,_ she could not shape stone in the same way her brother could – and even then, her works in stone were pitiful, to say the least.

But with metal under her feet and all around her, she knew that she would be able to fight back. Focusing her mind the way a warrior focused in preparation for an attack, she visualized the metal as a liquid substance, easy to move and to shape, and with a mental heave, pulled it up around her in a protective wall that broke the whirlwind, and gave her some space to breathe.

She had to act fast. Wind Walkers were some of the fastest fighters amongst the Maraxans, their skills having originally been intended to counter airborne _Maishunin _during the _Dranas Sarachi, _and those skills honed to perfection during the _Dranas Huzni._

There were, however, ways of countering that.

As soon as the whirlwind had died down, she molded the metal beneath Elia's feet into long, rope-like extensions, and with those extensions she grabbed hold of her opponent's wrists and feet. Another mental command withdrew the extensions, pulling them back into their source with such force that Elia was yanked into the floor with a high, angry shriek.

Meriat walked forward then, slowly, knowing that despite being restrained, Elia was still very dangerous. _'It does not have to end this way,'_ she said via mind-speech, trying to reason with her. _'Please, Elia… Do not force me to kill you. For the sake of our friendship, even if only in honor of its memory, please, please, go away from here, and never come back.'_

Elia stared up at her, dark blue eyes ringed with gold flashing in the artificial light, and she laughed: the manic laughter of one who had been broken, not physically, but in heart and soul. _'Think you that pretty words can make all of this right? Think you that an apology can heal wounds deeper than you will ever know? _You broke our promise, Meriat! _There is nothing you can do to atone for that – save to die!'_

In a heartbeat, Meriat knew what was going to happen, had already felt the air stirring around her – and instinct lashed out more swiftly than emotion or reason ever could. Before the stirring wind around her could become another, more violent gale, she drew the metal underneath Elia upwards in a single, sharp move, the thought shaping the metal into a long, spindly stake – one that thrust itself right through Elia's heart.

Her death was swift and painless, of that Meriat was sure. But that knowledge did nothing to ease the ache in her heart. She had slain one whom she once called friend, whom she had always considered such, despite knowing that she had joined the cause against which Meriat herself fought.

And yet she knew it was necessary. Circumstance had necessitated it: either Elia died, or she did. And she knew that she could not die – not here, not now, not when she had so many other promises left to fulfill. At the very least, Elia had died attempting to keep her promise, and Meriat was sure that, given the circumstances, Toth would be kind and judge Elia's spirit gently for being unable to fulfill her promise.

She caused the spike to withdraw from Elia's body, to melt back into its source, and she knelt down beside Elia. "_Fyrigea tu koa,_ Elia." She reached out, and gently brushed the eyelids closed over the now-sightless eyes. "_Cerded tu sa arasel." _

Finally, with the threat to her life gone, Meriat yielded to the emotions within her, leaned over Elia's body, and wept.

* * *

TRANSLATION NOTES: 

"**Elo eteha kiros sarachi." **- There is no end to the cycle of vengeance.

"**Saveki, Elia ta Yuner mat Tir."** – Greetings, Elia ta Yuner mat Tir.

"**Vae tu, Meriat la Telescos mat Tir."** – And you, Meriat la Telescos mat Tir.

"**Dranas Sarachi"** – Wars of Vengeance

"**Dranas Huzni"** – Wars of Sorrow

"**Fyrigea tu koa, Elia."** – Forgive me, Elia.

"**Cerded tu sa arasel."** – Walk in the light.


	9. 8: Alliances

**Chapter Eight: Alliances**

He did not know what he had been expecting. He had heard from Jazz about how this Maraxan named Meriat fought, but what he saw, what they _all_ saw, through Teletraan-1's screens was not what he had anticipated. First of all, it had all the appearance of being completely, utterly illogical. It was impossible for any entity, as far as he knew, to manipulate air the way the trespasser had, or, for that matter, for someone to manipulate metal the way Meriat had.

But when he took into consideration the fact that they were dealing with a race that none of their kind had dealt with in millions of years, his logic processors allowed him room for the chance that such things were indeed possible. It had simply been so long since the Cybertronians had ever come in contact with a species that possessed such unusual talents.

It was not that Prowl was unaware of the existence of psionically-capable species: it was simply that he had never encountered a member of such a species before. Even if he had, he was well-aware that such talents could be faked by the one who supposedly possessed them. Humans, after all, did such things, and the rarity of such a species on the whole made the odds of meeting "the real thing," as it were, almost nil. Even then, Prowl believed that the feats that could be accomplished by such a species were probably fairly limited in scope – something that he felt was confirmed by the "achievements" of humans (the ones who could claim any genuine talent, at any rate) were really minuscule in scope.

The battle between Meriat and the interloper was _not_ what he had expected. It was one thing to pin three Autobots to a wall; it was another thing entirely to manipulate air and metal with such ease.

He turned to look at Jazz, who was looking at him with a knowing smirk on his face. "Now do ya believe me?" the Porsche asked, to which Prowl sighed.

"Yes, I believe you." He hadn't wanted to believe what Jazz had told him – told them: how it felt like to be held against a wall by a force he could not identify, a force he could not fight against or break. Most Cybertronians were capable of identifying whatever was holding them down, be it actual physical restraints or invisible magnetic force. To be unable to identify what was holding one down in such a situation must have been an eerie experience – or at least, that was how Jazz described it.

"Never thought they were _that_ strong, though," Jazz remarked as he walked over to Teletraan-1, playing back the entire battle – if it could be called that – while another screen followed Meriat as she carried the intruder's body with her out of the Ark. "Primus, just _look_ at that."

Prowl approached so that he was standing next to Jazz, watching the playback as well. "It is almost amazing to know that, long ago, our race was allied with theirs against a common enemy."

Jazz nodded slowly, thoughtfully, and Prowl wondered what he was thinking. He and the saboteur had been friends, good friends, for a very long time, and they understood each other very well, but there was something inscrutable in his friend's gaze at that moment. He wondered what he was thinking about, what was going through his processors as he watched the fight between Meriat and the intruder.

He turned around then, and noticed that Skids was standing off to one side, quietly conversing with Naila. Whatever it was, though, their talk was quickly concluded, because Skids nodded, and exited the Command Center, leaving Naila alone where she sat on the edge of one of the larger consoles. The woman sighed, and put a hand to her face, rubbing her forehead in a gesture that Prowl had seen often Spike and Carly do, though Sparkplug used to do it more often.

Jazz must have seen her then, because the Porsche smiled, and walked up to her. "Hey there li'l lady. Where'd Skids go off to?"

Naila looked up at him, and blinked once before answering: "I asked him to go and find the chest we took back with us from Egypt. Meriat said she needed it."

"Did she say why?" Prowl asked, curious. Preliminary investigation of the box (with Naila present, of course) had told them very little about it. Naila was able to infer that the designs on the box were not like anything she had ever seen before, and that there was writing on it as well, but apart from that, they could find out nothing. They could not even open it, since there were no visible seams to show where the lid was or where one could possibly pry it open.

"She only said that she needed it." Naila shifted slightly, straightening, and then she looked to the door. "She's coming."

Prowl glanced at the door just as it opened, and true to Naila's words, Meriat walked – or rather, floated – in, at shoulder-height with Skids. Her face looked grim and set, and her eyes – which, he had noticed earlier on, were rather odd in that she seemed to have _two_ irises instead of just one – stared almost blankly, as if at something none of them could see.

But those eyes seemed to regain their focus the moment they landed on Naila, and with a smile Meriat came over to embrace Naila.

"I am so sorry," Prowl heard the Maraxan murmur, her voice low and contrite. "It was not my intention to hurt you, young one."

"It…it is not a problem," Naila responded, obviously surprised by this outpouring of emotion.

Meriat nodded, and pulled back, gently stroking Naila's cheek. "You will sleep easier tonight, I promise you. Those nightmares were never yours, but my own."

Naila frowned. "If they were your own, what would you have to do with the massacre of so many children?"

Prowl noticed the way that Meriat stiffened, the way her shoulders seemed to sag. "It is…it is a long story. We left Maraxa hoping to avoid war, but…it followed us here."

"Now wait a minute," Skids interrupted then. "Isn't the war against the Quintessons over? Didn't you win that?"

Meriat turned to him, and the blue edges of her irises seemed to spiral closed a little bit, before they swirled back open a little more again. "That war is indeed over. My ancestors and some of your own kind fought side-by-side to cast out the _Ma Waj Resha _from our planet."

"Ma Waj… I am sorry, but to whom are you referring to? The Quintessons?" Prowl asked, a little confused by the reference.

Meriat tilted her head. "The name means 'Five Faces of Evil' in our language, for that is what they were. 'Quintessons' is what they called themselves."

So he _was_ right. "But what do you mean? Are you fighting another war?"

"…Yes." Meriat glanced over his shoulder then. "Your leader approaches."

Prowl turned, and nodded as Optimus came up to them. The Autobot Commander nodded in acknowledgement of the others, before focusing his attentions on Meriat. "I hope you're all right, Miss Meriat."

Meriat nodded, and bowed, a sad smile playing on her lips. "Uninjured physically, yes: my heart, however, is another matter." She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again Prowl noted a hint of ice in them, as if she had shuttered away some part of herself that, up until that moment, had been all too clear for them to see. "You wished to speak with me?"

Optimus gazed at her for a while with measuring optics, before he replied: "Yes, we do. We have plenty of questions, as you may imagine."

"I have promised to answer all your questions, and I will keep my promise. Ask what you will."

"Why are you here?"

Prowl noted that she did not respond for a while, her eyes lowered as she seemed to consider her words. In the meantime, others joined them: Bumblebee with Spike and Carly on his shoulder, Ironhide, and – somewhat surprisingly – Ratchet.

At last, Meriat looked up, and Prowl noticed how the blue fringe seemed to have all but disappeared, remaining only as small sapphire points around a dark brown iris. "We came here seeking a sanctuary from war. And the greatest tragedy is that we fight not some foreign entity from another planet, but ourselves.

"My people are deeply embroiled in a civil war, one which we have called the _Dranas Huzni,_ the Wars of Sorrow." Meriat straightened slightly, and her voice grew a little stronger as well. "It began several generations ago, at the height of our civilization…"

Prowl listened as she spoke to them of a slow, gradual split in their society, which was based on one choice: whether or not they approved of planetary conquest. She told how gradually, two factions emerged. One was the Ixmal, those who believed that it was within their rights to go forth and conquer planets whose inhabitants were weaker than they or possessed no psionic abilities at all. The other was the Kaimet, those who believed that such ideals made them no better than the Quintessons who had taken over their world in the first place.

Even more chilling was the fact that the first planet the Ixmal had set their sights on was Cybertron.

"Cybertron?!" Ironhide demanded, his accent growing more pronounced as emotion bubbled through. "Whyever would you want t' conquer _Cybertron_?!"

"Revenge," Meriat replied simply, "and also because we had kept a close eye on what was happening on your planet. We do not know the fine details, but when our Watchers finally grew powerful enough to see what was going on, we learned that you had all armed yourselves, and become what we had feared and hated the most: _Maishunin,_ Harbingers of Doom."

"Watchers?" Skids queried. He had slipped into the Command Center once again, and had discreetly taken up one of the empty spaces around Meriat.

Meriat looked at him, a small smile on her face. "They are those amongst us who have mastered the skill of astral projection. The most skilled are capable of projecting themselves far beyond the confines of our planet, and seek other worlds, without ever having to leave Maraxa. We have explored many galaxies, seen numerous planets, without once having ever left our home."

"Is that why you came to Earth?" Ratchet asked then. "Because you knew we were here?"

"Yes and no. We knew about Earth because our Watchers saw what happened to your ships, as well as where they had landed. They did not investigate further beyond the crash, and assumed that you were dead. But the reason we came to Earth was because we were fleeing." She seemed to stop short then, clutching her stomach for some odd reason, and Prowl wondered if she was ill.

"Fleein' from what, li'l lady?" Jazz's voice was concerned, gentle and coaxing.

Meriat blinked once, twice, and then let go of her stomach, her hand hanging at her side instead, and explained what had happened: how they, the Kaimet, were cornered in a city called Matkare, and how their primary energy source, something she called _karyt aksha_, or soul crystals, were nearly gone. They only had enough to power ships they had built in the eventuality they needed to escape from Maraxa itself, and so they put all their resources into the ships, and left, fleeing to Earth and arriving just when human civilization was beginning to emerge.

"But who was that woman who attacked you?" Prowl asked, trying to keep the conversation on-topic. "You said she was your…" he hesitated momentarily, wondering what to call the strange intruder, and then decided to simply call it as his logic processors dictated, "friend."

Meriat seemed to stand straighter then, and Prowl thought she had the air of one who was used to command, like some of the human military leaders. "She came here for two reasons. The first was because I had broken our childhood promises, and she felt such merited nothing less than my death. The second is because she was ordered to."

"What are you saying?" Optimus asked. "That there is a higher power behind her?"

"Yes. If my count is correct, then it has been almost six thousand Terran years since I went into the _Youma Orsomo, _the Sleep of Ages Before that, the Ixmal came here, determined to destroy us, and they came close to succeeding. They did not, however, leave."

"Wait." Prowl fixed Meriat with an intense stare. "Are you saying that these Ixmal are still here, on Earth?"

The blue fringe had all but disappeared from Meriat's eyes when she looked up at him. "They did not leave. And now that they know I am awake, it will not be long until it starts again."

"What do you mean by 'it'?" Bumblebee asked, and Prowl did not miss the hint of nervousness in his voice.

And Meriat answered, her voice steady, but deep with trepidation and worry: "War."

* * *

If there was one word in the entire universe that Optimus Prime hated the most, it was that one. He knew, far too intimately, all the implications of that one word: the thousands of lives lost over the vorns, the crushing defeats from which they had never really recovered, and even the victories that they so cherished and celebrated were ephemeral, because while they gained one thing, they were apt to lose something else.

He knew the price, and the pain, of war. The only reason why he fought one was because to do otherwise would mean to let so many others die. In comparison to the destruction Megatron and the Decepticons would wreak not only on Cybertron, but on the rest of the galaxy, to fight this war was the better option. It did not mean he had to like it, but it was for the best.

And now…this.

He spoke, breaking the silence that had settled in after Meriat had said that one dreaded word. "The war followed you here."

It was a statement, not a question, and Meriat looked up at him. She held his gaze steadily, never once looking away, never flinching.

"I know that you have your own war," she said at length, "and you need not be involved in ours. I am grateful for your kindness and your aid, but when I am well enough, I will leave. You need not dig yourself deeper into this."

Optimus considered that answer. As a commander, he knew that the best thing to do would be to let her do as she asked, to let her go away and to let her people fight their own war on their own terms. It was enough to fight one war; he did not need to fight another one. His people did not need it.

But the Autobots had promised to defend not only themselves, but the humans as well. He also knew that if he did not step in somehow, it would not be long until the Decepticons found out about the soul crystals, and Megatron figured out a way to use them to his advantage. This war would endanger not only the humans, but the Autobots as well.

That was _not_ something Optimus would allow.

"You do not have to fight alone." Optimus allowed his optics to glow a bit more, ignoring the way that the others looked at him. He would speak to them later. For now, he needed to speak to Meriat, and only to her. "Your war is ours as well, because we share the same battlefield. Moreover, I am certain that our enemies will try to take advantage of what your people can bring forth, and I am not going to allow that."

Meriat stared, eyes going wide as the ring of blue all but disappeared. "Are you proposing an alliance?"

There was something in the tone of her voice that indicated something more, that to her, this was no casual unification of forces. This was serious, and carried far greater weight, far more implications than what it appeared on the surface. Optimus wondered at that, and he intended to ask about it, but later. Right now, it was more important to get Meriat on their side. "If you will accept, yes. We shall be stronger united than divided."

She continued to look at him, as if carefully gauging his words. "You must understand: once I agree, I cannot go back on my word. Amongst my people, promises that are spoken are promises that may never be broken. It also means that we shall throw our lot in with you, completely and totally, and that you must do the same. I must know, right now, that you will not betray us. If you cannot fulfill everything that the alliance between us implies, then speak no more of it."

Optimus did not hesitate. He sensed he could trust Meriat, that once she had given her promise, she would not go back on her word. And he knew that he would not, either. "I promise."

Meriat considered for a while, and then nodded. "Very well then. Henceforth, we are allies in a shared war, as it was in the distant past." She bowed: a deep, formal one – a gesture, Optimus would later learn, that was used to seal important agreements, whether on a personal level or on a much grander scale. "May Vedra, Laksma, and Toth, and all your gods, watch and guide us henceforth."

* * *

TRANSLATION NOTES:

**Ma Waj Resha** – Five Faces of Evil


	10. 9: Motives

**Chapter Nine: Motives**

It was certainly the last thing that Perceptor had expected, though he felt that it was only logical for such a thing to occur. Cybertron and Maraxa had, after all, been connected for quite a while.

But his surprise stemmed from two things: first, the rarity of the item to begin with, dating as it did all the way back to the very beginnings of their race, and second, because it was made out of a metal whose properties he found exceedingly fascinating.

"And you say that this substance is resistant to the capabilities of your race to shape metal?" he asked curiously as he held the artifact delicately with a pair of tweezers, using the least amount of pressure as possible, and then powering up his optics to zoom-in so they could take in and record every single detail.

He did not see Meriat nod, merely heard the tone of agreement in her voice in response to his question. "Yes. There are many metals that we can shape simply on the power of our minds, but this metal – _prazga_, as my people call it – is one of the substances not affected at all by our abilities. It was for that reason we gave this metal to the _Risionag_ for crafting into what you hold now."

"And you say that this is an ancestral artifact? One handed down through generations?"

The "artifact" in question was a strange cup of sorts, made out of a dark metal that looked as if it had been dusted with starlight. It had been in the chest that Meriat had insisted Jazz and his team bring with out of Egypt, and now that she considered the Autobots allies, she was willing to show it to him when he asked her about the contents of the chest.

"Yes. It is a treasure of House Tir, which my clan is a part of. The other Houses have their own Treasures, but since the beginning of the Wars of Sorrow, the locations of each one has been lost. I was only made aware that we had carried this one with us when Lady Danara gave it to me via my brother for safekeeping, before I went into the Sleep_._"

"I see. Do you know what it was meant for?"

"Not really. It was said that the Eight Treasures could be united in some way or form, and were meant to be used together, but that is all we know. Anything beyond that is only known to the Heads of the Eight Houses."

But Perceptor barely heard any of what the Maraxan had said. His optics were focused now on a row of tiny letters around the rim of the cup. "By Primus, I do not believe this…" He refocused his optics so that he could look at Meriat properly. "Do you know what this writing around the edge?"

As he expected, Meriat shook her head. "No. We only know that it is written in the language of the _Risionag_ who made it, but that is all. Again, only the Heads of the Houses know the truth."

"I may be able to provide you with the answer, even without a Head of the House present in order to tell you." With that, Perceptor tuned his personal comm. to Skids', and waited for the theoretician to answer.

* * *

"What are you going to do now?"

Naila looked up at Skids, and smiled. "I have to go back to Egypt," she answered as she held her scarf down over her head as a playful gust of wind threatened to take it off. "My work here with you is done, and there are other things I have to do."

Skids sighed. "Can't you stay a little longer?"

"I'm sorry, but my work cannot wait."

"I know that, I just…" He looked up at her. "I'm going to miss you a lot."

Her gaze softened then, and she reached out to put a hand on his leg. "That is very sweet, Skids, and I will miss you too." Her smile widened. "Perhaps, when you have the time, you can come and visit. There was not much time before, but I would like to introduce you to some of my colleagues. I am sure you would have a lot of fun talking to them."

Skids grinned, feeling his spark lighten at the offer. He had feared that, after this whole situation with Meriat, he would never see Naila again. But the offer to come visit her in Egypt again, as well as a chance to talk to her colleagues, was something that he simply couldn't-

-+-Skids?-+-

Skids gave Naila a little gesture, asking her to wait a moment, before he responded. -+-Something come up, Perceptor?-+-

The scientist's cultured voice did nothing to mask the seriousness of his tone. -+-Would you come to my laboratory, if you please? And bring Ms. Naila with you. I find I have need of your expertise.-+-

-+-Uh, sure. We'll be there in a klik. Skids out.-+- He turned to Naila, who was looking at him inquiringly. "We have to go to the Command Center. Something's come up with Meriat."

Naila frowned. "Why? Did something happen?"

Skids was about to say that she should know by now, but them he remembered that Meriat had severed all telepathic ties to Naila. "I don't know. Perceptor didn't tell me, but I don't think he'd call you or me in unless we were needed." He transformed into his alt-mode and swung the door open. "Hop in. We'll get there quicker if I drive."

* * *

"Amazing…"

Meriat looked on as Skids looked at the Cup, or the _Kijaithos,_ at it was called in Maraxan, and felt anticipation – and fear – prickle equally up and down her spine. There was a story about the Eight Treasures that all Maraxans knew from childhood: how the first Heads of the Houses gave a quantity of _prazga_ to the _Risionag,_ and who, in their turn, crafted the Eight Treasures which were given as parting gifts to her people before the _Risionag_ left their planet. They did so with but one injunction: to never use the Eight Treasures together unless their planet was in the direst of straits. The promise had been given, and as was the way of her people, had never been broken.

But what the Heads of the Houses had never told those who served them was the true purpose of the Treasures – and it was a question no one had chosen to ask. All were aware that the words exchanged between the Heads of the Houses and the _Risionag_ were private, and to have their leaders betray that trust for the sake of curiosity was the height of rudeness in their society.

The current circumstances, however, were different now.

"Well?" Perceptor prompted. "What do you make of those symbols? They seem Cybertronian to me, but I cannot be certain. Such matters are not within my line of expertise."

"That's because they _are_ Cybertronian." Skids leaned back, and Meriat thought he looked rather dazed. "It's a very ancient form of Cybertronian, and very difficult to translate since the symbols we use now are radically different from these."

"But I had assumed you would be able to read these, since you _did_ say you were able to read the memoirs that deal with the time period from which the artifact comes from," Perceptor said, frowning.

"I know I did, but those were already updated records." Skids put the Cup down with a sigh. "

Meriat tilted her head as she picked up the Cup. "So that means you cannot read what is written there?" She did not know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

Skids smiled as he glanced at her. "I can't read all the symbols, but I do know some of them. The ones that I could read translate to 'security' and 'energon.' Do those words make any sense when you link them up with the Cup?"

They did not, and Meriat shook her head. "No. I do not even know what this 'energon' is."

"It is our energy source, our fuel, to put it in layman's terms," Perceptor explained, "however, it is far more complex than mere fuel, for we are capable of using it for various applications – the creation of energon weapons, for example. Take Grimlock, for instance-"

"Forgive me for interrupting," Naila cut in then, her voice soft and polite, "but I was wondering: why was this put in your care, Meriat?"

"It was requested that I should do so," Meriat replied, sensing something in the human woman's surface thoughts that indicated her questions ran deeper, linked to a series of thoughts far more complex than Naila herself could explain, but which humans simply called "intuition." "It was given to me by my brother, who said that Lady Danara herself said that I should keep it with me."

"But why? Should it not have been safer with your Lady Danara? After all, she is the only one who knows its secrets."

Meriat made to speak, but then stopped, her thoughts considering Naila's words. The human had a point: why indeed had Lady Danara given her the Cup for safekeeping? Lady Danara was a powerful Shaper, and was certainly capable of looking after the Cup. Why send it all the way to Meriat?

And then a thought so chilling occurred to Meriat, that the moment it flashed into her mind she pushed it away, holding it at arms' length lest it consume all other thoughts.

Perhaps the Ixmal had come after them for some _other_ reason, not merely to slaughter them all…?

"-not able to look after it herself?" Skids suggested, causing Meriat to look up at him.

"No," she stated, figuring out immediately what they had been talking about while she wasn't paying attention. "Lady Danara was fully capable of ensuring the Cup's safety. If anything, it surprises me now to think that she had it sent to me when she could have found more creative and ingenious means of safeguarding it. The only reason she would have sent it away from her, to be hidden somewhere else, was if she was expecting someone to come after her, knowing that the Cup would be in her possession. By having it sent to me, she thereby ensures its safety."

"But there is a problem with that thread of reasoning," Perceptor remarked after a moment of silence. "_Who_ would have access to such information – since you did mention earlier that the location of the other eight artifacts was supposed to be unknown – aside from the Heads of the Houses, or perhaps someone who knew this Lady Danara intimately enough that she would have confided to this person or persons that she had the Cup in her possession."

Meriat nodded, a plan rapidly taking shape in her mind. "That is precisely it. I have an idea about who it could be, but I do not wish to act upon mere suspicion. I will need to find Lady Danara, but to do so I need to find my brother."

"Do you know where he is?" Skids asked. "It's going to be hard if we don't know his location. I mean, Naila and her colleagues pretty much found you by accident."

Meriat smiled slightly at the blue-and-red mech. "Do not worry, I know where he sleeps."

"Then where?"

"In the temple of Enki, in Eridu."

Both Skids and Perceptor seemed to frown, but Meriat sensed a wave of surprise emanate from Naila, who said: "The place that was once known as Eridu is near Basra, in Iraq. Your brother is located in the middle of a war zone."

* * *

Ironhide's optics widened at what he had just heard. "By Primus… You ain't kiddin' are you?"

But it was clear, from Meriat's expression, that this was no joke. "I have been apprised of the situation in Iraq, of the war that is going on there."

Prowl looked at the Maraxan with a scrutinizing optic. "Is finding your brother really that important? Can't you find your leader without him?"

"Unfortunately, that is not possible. If I was looking for someone who was awake and aware, then it would be possible to locate him or her as long as I had some idea as to their identity. However, when we enter the Sleep of Ages, we become invisible, even to those whom we are closest to. I only know of Nikitu's location because he told me he would be there."

"There's no guarantee that he will still be there," Prowl stated. "He might have moved on, moved elsewhere for some other reason. What then?"

Meriat shook her head, and Ironhide had to admire the female's determination. He always liked anyone with gumption, and he could tell this early on that Meriat was no pushover. "I am certain he is still there. It will take some time to get to his exact location, but I know where he is, and I know he is still there."

Ironhide glanced at Prowl, who looked back at him before turning to their leader. "Optimus? What do you think?"

Optimus Prime's optics were a little darker than usual, a clear indication that he was thinking this over carefully. Ironhide had known Prime for vorns, and was pretty good at reading the Autobot Commander's moods. Though there were times when Prime could be downright inscrutable, most of the time, he wasn't.

This was one of those times, and Ironhide could tell that Prime was really thinking hard about what he ought to do, after Meriat requested for their help to find her brother, who also happened to be "sleeping," as she had called it, in the deserts outside of Basra, Iraq – a military hot zone, where American and British troops still clashed with Iraqi resistance forces.

Already Ironhide could see the dangers the destination presented. Although the Autobots had made their position as a neutral group very clear, their connection to the United States would likely make them tempting targets to Iraqi resistance forces. Up until this point the Autobots had managed not to set foot in any areas where the humans were waging war, lest they get caught up in it. If Optimus agreed to Meriat's request, it would be the first time they would do so, and Primus help them if something went horribly wrong.

But if there was one thing that Ironhide understood about the Autobot Commander, it was that he kept his word. It was also one of the main reasons why he was proud to call Optimus Prime his commander – as well as his friend.

When Optimus lifted his head, Ironhide already knew what decision he had reached. He smiled somewhere between weariness and resignation, and tapped into Optimus' private comm. link with his own. -+-You're goin' to help her, ain't ya?-+-

He noted the brightening of Optimus' optics, a sure sign of amusement. -+-You know me well, old friend.-+- Cutting the link then, Optimus focused on Meriat again. "We will help you, then. Just give us some time to organize a team to send with you, and then Skyfire will take you to Basra."

* * *

TRANSLATION NOTES:

**prazga** – void metal

**Kijaithos** – The Cup


End file.
